#as u can see my nose stubble is coming in the hairs are very thick tht is indeed a five ocklock shadow on my nose

[bitchylandtyphoon]

Sugar on Honey🍯

A/N: Hellooo I hope you guys are doing great I just wanted to try writing a Jim Hopper fic since I barely see any like come on he's so fine and ugh. Ahem anyways pls enjoy the story if u have any recommendations feel free to comment! If u have a request feel free to send a message to me! I'm still new to Tumblr so I'm not really sure how to work any of this sorry about that! ------------------------------------❈---------------------------------------- Hopper didn’t understand how you were so calm with Eleven. He tried, he really did. He took care of Eleven as if he was her own but he couldn't be as gentle and soft as you were. “This is an apple ok? It's red, sweet and a fruit. This is a cucumber, it's green and a vegetable!” Hopper watched as you taught Eleven basic English. “Ok, now you try” You hold up a bunch of grapes. “These are...grapes, sweet, blue and...fruit?” Eleven guessed while squinting hard at the grapes. “Heyyyy not bad! You're doing great, you just mixed up purple with blue but no biggie. Do you wanna do another one?” You said encouragingly. Eleven nods and proceeds to pick another product to investigate. “Oooh~ Hopper watches as you two laugh and learn, he couldn't stop himself from smiling, he appreciated what you were doing especially since Eleven was on house arrest. You were the only one he could trust. He absentmindedly takes a sip of his dark coffee hissing as it was too hot to drink. “You ok?” Hopper looks up to see you looking at him with a worried expression on your face. He loved that face, it was pretty cute. He chuckled “Ye, just too hot to drink” “Be careful before you burn your tongue off for good” You start cleaning the food off of the ground. “Yeah yeah, I won't mom” Hopper jokes as he goes into the kitchen. “Very funny Hopper haha” You give a playful glare “What is so funny? Ha...ha?” Eleven asks, seeing you two joking around not understanding the sarcasm. “Oh it's just sarcasm honey, try finding it in the dictionary, you'll find the meaning there.” You give a gentle smile while pointing to the thick book. “Well, there you go word of the day.” Hopper comes back into the hall sitting in the big chair stirring his spoon in the white coffee-stained mug. You wondered how much coffee he really drinks in a day. “S-A-R-C-A-S-M? the use of i- irony to m-mock or con-convey contempt?” Eleven read trying to read the words correctly. She looked at you for guidance and approval. “Good job kid, you’re doing so well, I need to go now, be a good girl for me ok?” you kissed her crown and gave a hug feeling her arms slowly wrapping around your bottom. “Bye-bye now~” “Bye (Y/N)” Eleven gave a small shy smile as she watched you look for your coat. “Here you go, make sure to zip up” Hopper gives you your coat helping you put it on. “Mm thanks, Hopper” “You want a ride?” Hopper suggests side-eyeing you while he refills his coffee. “I think ill manage, il call if anything happens” “Nope nope it's freezing, not letting you go out alone especially when it's night,” He says sternly as he puts on his coat and boots grabbing his keys on the way to the door “I'll be fine-” “Come on, let's go” You sigh “Ok fine” You trudge to his truck knowing he wouldn't let you win the argument. Giving a small wave to Eleven through the window. You pull his hand stopping him from going too close to the truck. “What, what's wrong, did you forget something?” Hopper asked “No you did” Hopper gives you a confused look “Eleven” “What about her?” “You didn't tell her bye” You take your hand backcrossing it against your chest as you look at the chief disappointed. Hopper sighs and goes back to the house, you watch as he tells Eleven bye” “Happy?” He says with his arms out as he walks towards you. “Depends,” You say as you open the truck door. You wait until he starts the car and starts moving out of the parking area. “What did you tell her?” “What?” “What did you tell her?” “I told her to keep the doors locked, not go out, keep windows and curtains closed-” “Hopperrr” You interrupt him,

sighing with your head down “What have I told you, give be gentle with her. She’s smart and strong, she can handle herself if anything happens. All you have to do is give her a simple bye and a hug” You put a hand on his leg “I know you're trying Jim, I really do know that. I've seen some progress and I'm really happy for both of you. Don’t be so harsh on her ok? She’s just a kid” Hopper sighs calming under your touch. “I know, I know I just. I feel like if I don't be hard on her, she’ll run away, get in some serious trouble and go meet her boyfriend.” Hopper rolls his eyes thinking of Eleven and MIke together. “Well if I was on house arrest and a teenager I would've run away to see my boyfriend too,” You say taking your hand off of his leg. “No you wouldn’t, you wouldn't even go out to the park, you were too much of a wuss,” He says as he looks for something in his coat. You dramatically gasp “Ok first of all, you're right, I would've never run away. Second, I have strict parents and you know that. Third I am not a wuss I just like staying home,” you sigh “who am I kidding I hated going out and being around people, especially with those dumb kids running around” You shake your head thinking of how introverted you were as a kid. Hopper laughs, throwing his head back watching you jokingly pout at him. He takes a cigarette out of his right pocket. “Well you were always the kid in the back of the room, quiet and shy, never understood how you could keep your mouth shut for so long” You grab the cigarette out of his mouth throwing it away somewhere in the car making him give you a glare “You know how my parents are, “be quiet,” “be good,'' “do good in school”, “no boys”” You say, quoting your parents' famous words. “Well at least they raised a good person,” He said, giving a genuine compliment your way. “Hah, that was all my doing” Frowning remembering how horrible your parents were at raising a child. You saw Hopper turning the radio on. You knew what he was doing but you weren't going to stop him at all. He turned it to the classic rock channel starting to sing and rock his head. Ah, how you loved him. Hey hey baby when you walk that way, Watch your honey drip, can't keep away Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh, ah, ahOh yeah, oh yeah, oh, ah, ah. “Here comes Jim Hopper, everyone missing members of Led Zeppelin'' You say as if there's a crowd. I gotta roll, can't stand still Got a flamin' heart, can't get my fill You laugh at how amusing he sounds, he's not half bad for the chief of police. Eyes that shine, burnin' red Dreams of you all through my head You throw your head back clutching your stomach, you just couldn't stop laughing. “Come on singggg, I know you know this one” Hopper says encouraging you to sing. “Noooo, are you crazy?!” You yell at him “Come onnnn” He pushes you You roll your eyes as he starts singing again. Hey, baby, oh baby, pretty baby Move me like you're doin' now- “Who knew the kitten could sing huh?” Hopper looks at you while you start singing with a big smile.

Didn't take too long 'fore I found out What people mean by down and out

Spent my money, took my car Started tellin' her friends she gonna be a star~ ------------------------------------❈---------------------------------------- “Thanks for the ride, really appreciate it Jim. Goodnight. Make sure to get some rest ok?” You say as you close the door “Yeah yeah mom, I get it” You give him a glare through the window door. Giving him a wave you turn around to your place. “Hold on!” You hear Hopper's voice shout behind you. Stopping in your tracks you turn around to see Hopper speed walking towards trying not to slip from the thick snow on the ground. The night was so beautiful, the snow was thick and flowing down like paper, it wasn't too cold but just cold enough to make the tip of your nose red. The street lights were on looking like yellow stars in the dark blue sky. It was perfect. “You forgot your bag,” He said, giving it to you. “Oh? OH thank you” you said, giving him a thankful smile while reaching for the bag. “It's fine, it's not like I'm gonna steal it now” Hopper chuckles putting his hands in his coat pockets. “Well, why would anyone steal a gift they gave to someone else?” You said giggling as you put the bag on. He grins “It looks good on you by the way, really suits you” “Oh, thanks” You blush at the comment while brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I was just thinking, you don't have to if you want, but I just wanted to ask you if u wanted to go on a date? I was thinking of a restaurant but only if u wanted to go there, we can go somewhere else, really up to you," he sighed "I'm gonna shut up now, have a goodnight” Hopper turned on his heel and started leaving but felt a tug on his coat. “I would love to go on a date with you Jim,” You said, giving him a gentle smile. You stood up on your tiptoes giving him a peck on the cheek. It felt different because of the stubble but you liked it. The butterflies in both of your stomachs were going crazy, fluttering around as if they were being chased by a bird. You wanted to stay in his warm embrace but fell back down due to the height difference.

“6 pm Friday at Johnnie's?” “I would love that, casual dress code?” “Why would we need a dress code?” He joked “Hoppperr” You hit his chest distancing yourself heading to your house. You stood on the porch seeing him waiting for you to go in your house safely. You lean against your doorway. “Goodnight Jim” God he loved it when you called him by Jim, it was like sugar on honey. “Goodnight kitten” You smiled at the nickname.

Heading inside you close the door, leaning against it. “EEEEEEEEEEE he actually asked me out, oh my god” You laugh at how excited you were acting. You couldn't wait. --------------------------------------❈-------------------------------------- Hopper headed to his truck getting in and turning the radio on. “Good job Hop, good job” He chuckled as he drove off. He couldn't wait.

[siriusmydeer]

james potter smut alphabet

james potter x fem!reader

a/n: that took from 9:45pm-12:pm then 7am-9:20am THAT TOOK SO LONG OMG

i’m sorry if it’s bad

warning: literally pure sex smut all that jazz

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

that man is the softest dom, literally the DEFINITION. he gives u so many kisses, he praises u, he will shower with you, wash your hair, gives u his clothes LITERALLY THE BEST.

“mhm jamie, too tired” you murmur. your body melting into the mattress as you speak, all worn down. “but, love.” he pushes your hair behind your ears, pulling you up. “gotta get you all nice and clean f’me.”

he pulls you up, his calloused hands gripping onto your thighs, bringing you into the bathroom. the shower already nice and warm ready for the both of you. he’s holding you under the warm water to the point where you might collapse if it wasn’t for his grip.

“you did good love, so so good all f’me.” he says sponging kisses on your forehead, both of his hands on your lower back holding you.

“i love you, my sweets.”

“you’re the only one f’me.”

you were so tired, so vulnerable just allowing james to take care of you because that’s all he wanted to do.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

his biceps, simple. he does A LOT of quidditch training to get to his strength. he also takes pride in being able to just fuck you against the lockers from his strength. it also inflates his ego when he catches you staring at his biceps. or when he’s taking you underneath him your gripping his biceps like your life depended on it.

“james- fuck.” you moaned into his neck, his lips sucking dark hues into your collar bones and his left forearm resting right beside your head and his other gripping around your waist.

he started going slower, but deeper. he hit a new angle inside of you almost hitting your cervix. you let out a strangled moan gripping his bicep almost digging your nails into the flesh.

his head dipping out from beneath your neck to slot your plush reddened lips with his.

that man and you’re THIGHS. he’s a thigh man don’t tell me other wise. whether ur in your school skirt, jeans, leggings, underwear ;) his legs AND HANDS always divert to the soft plush skin of your thigh.

your ankles insticntly went to lock around james’ head, he had been in between your thighs for hours on end without a stop.

“james- i’m gonna cum.” you breathed out in a moan. his hands squeezing at the flesh on your thigh, they were reddened and begging to lightly bruise from him doing those similar actions for the last hour and a half.

“cum darling, cum for me.”

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

so, esentially speaking theres wizard potions to block out pregnancy. so he would be CUMMING INSIDE OF U. not nessesarily a breeding kink but he likes when your full and stuffed with his cum. he also loves to cum on your chest or thighs because he likes the contrast to your skin and he think it makes you so utterly pretty.

the wave of euphoria and stars dancing across your vision had almost come to an end as your boyfriends thrust got sloppy and rigid.

“pretty girl where do you want it, where do you want my cum?” he panted to you, close to his release.

“i want you to cum inside me jamie, please. fill me up.” you let out a small moan at his constant friction when you felt ropes of seed shoot into you, he rode out his orgasam then pulled out. you clenched around nothing as he came face to you cunt.

he pushed his fingers into you, a small moan leaving your mouth as you made eye contact with him.

“gotta keep you all nice and full, yeah?”

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

there’s nothing he would want more than a lap dance. you in you your lingerie you had just bought giving him a little show after one of a quidditch wins. 

“mhm, sit f’me.” you whispered into his ear, placing him to hit at the end of his four poster bed.

“and what have you got going on darling? a suprise?” he said, leaning against his two hands watching you pry at your tie and slip it off.

slowly unbuttoning your school blouse, flinging it on the floor. he lets out a small groan at the sight of you almost naked in your skirt. you walk towards him shuffling onto his lap.

“you did win after all, and winners get rewards.” you said circling your hips onto his clothed cock .

“fuck... the things you do to me.” he groaned into your ear as you continued.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

i’m gonna be honest i don’t think that much when you first get together. i mean there’s been ladies he’s a marauder but he’s only ever wanted to you so i feel like he just gets to know your body really well and he sort of just has instincts. like during your first time there’s those little awkward moments but you both make it run all good and smoothly

“s’gonna hurt y/n.” he murmured to you, situating himself in between your legs as you lock your ankles behind his back.

“i know, but i want this. i want you. i need you inside me.” you whisper in desperation for him, needing to feel him.

“you ready?”

“mhm, please.”

he slowly started to slide into you, when you let out your first hiss of discomfort, he slotted his fingers between yours and slightly halted his movements.

“keep going jamie.” you encouraged

he slid his way into your cunt until he was fully in.

“move please, i need to feel you.” he did his first pulse, light movements when you let an involuntary moan escape the threshold of your lips.

“mhm- jamie, keep going.”

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

missionary bc he just wants to see your beautiful face, against the quidditch lockers so he can just hold you against them or doggy bc he likes to choke you or pull you up so he can see your back arch for him.

you heard the bang of metal as james took you against the quidditch lockers and you tried to muffle your moans against his lips.

“gotta- gotta be quiet love. wouldn’t want anyone to know what we’re doing in here.” he panted into you ear. he continued as he angled your leg higher, hitting you g-spot as he continued his pace.

“james fuck- so good. so fucking good.”

“you look so fucking beautiful like this y/n.”

“j-james i- i cant hold on much longer. s’too much.” you moaned and whimpered from the back of your throat.

“pretty girl cum for me.”

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

there’s 2 kinds of sex with james, giggly super soft lovie sex. not necessarily making jokes but just giggling because he just tickled your side my accident or accidentally bumping noses. or there’s big dom daddy james where it’s very PASSIONATE but he’s very dominate.

his hand ran down the depth of your curves, a little giggle bubbling through your throat. he looked at you with a cocked brow, repeating his action as his chin rested on your stomach a small smirk on his lips.

you giggled again, your hand running through his hair. you brought his face to your lips as your finger tips danced under his jaw.

he giggled at your actions as well, also seemingly ticklish under his neck.

“you’re so distracting james potter.” you groaned as he continued to pulse through you while giggling at you.

“i’m distractingly beautiful y/n y/l/n”

“quite insuffer- fuck!” you were caught off with a moan as his fingertips danced on your clit. stimulating you.

“hmmm darling, cat got your tongue?”

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

so james has that thick mangle of tresses on his head, so i feel like he’s quite cleanly shaven, maybe just a bit of a stubble? but i feel like he would shave not only to make it more comfortable for him but for you seemingly easier and more comfortable.

i don’t think he would care if you were shaved or not, as long as you were comfortable your natural body hair is not stopping him from going down on your or having sex with you.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

ROMANCE KING ILL SAY IT ONCE ILL SAY IT TWICE ILL SAY IT THREE TIMES IF HE COULD EVERYTIME HE WOULD SPREAD ROSE PETALS AND CANDLES AND LIGHT FIRE PLACES AND E V E R Y T H I N G. during the whole thing your hands would e interlocked with his, chests pressed against eachother, eye contact, soft touches, soft kisses and mumbles of praise like whew.

“jamie- what’s this?” you asked, your eyes scanning around the room with floating candles and rose petals on the floor.

“well i figured i’d make it special, i dunno.” he murmured shoving his hands in his pockets. you turned towards him with a grin your face.

you grasped his face between your palms lightly kissing his lips before speaking.

“a real sap you are potter, my sap.”

“correct, 10 points go y/h.”

“thanks professor potter.” you teased before leaning in to kiss his lips again.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

i feel like he would A LOT and you would catch him A LOT. somwtimes u aren’t always there but u know what is there, a picture of you and his hands and he makes due when he needs too. but normally he just goes to you because he would rather anyways but sometimes there are bigger priorities then his random hard ons.

“y/n- fuck me...” he moaned, his hand pumping his cock in one hand and the other gripping his bed post, knuckles turning a shade of white.

his only thought being the way you looked under him, on top of him, infront of him, you’re beautiful beautiful body. you were currently occupied helping mcgonagall with extra transfiguration while james was in need... of you.

you had finished early, waltzing into james’ room like normal except you were met with a familiar sight of james pumping his cock in his hand while his head was slightly leant back and his jaw was slack.

you cleared your throat, crossing your arms and a smirk on your lips with an eyebrow raise. “couldnt wait atleast an hour could you?” you teased, walking closer.

“well now that your here, could you lend a hand?”

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

james has a daddy kink😐 literally that’s one of his most prominent kinks. i mean your his angel, his darling girl he would do anything for you i mean he just wants to make you happy. and i mean you calling him daddy while withering under him just makes him 😁

“daddy... please.” you begged him.

“ive been a good girl. i promise!” you were almost yelling at him, wanting him to understand.

“sweetheart we’re you a good girl when flirting with sirius?” his face got seemingly close to yours, asking you the question while raising one of his eyebrows.

“no daddy.” you said, embarassed. you had been waiting for james attention all night long but instead he was stuck all up in detention for a prank against snape.

and then when he finally arrived to the common room he barely spared you a word, so you did what you had to do to grab his attention and... it worked.

“so tell me baby, whyd you break the rules?”

“i just wanted your attention daddy! i just wanted you!”

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

i think his fave would be the dorms in the bed. but the prefects bath is a very close second. and he surely doesn’t mind the common room or broom closets that are very open to public where you both could get caught in comprising positions.

you heard the slosh of the water beside you, as you moved your hips onto james’ submerged underneath the prefects bath water as u straddled him.

his hands came to steady your hips as your buried your head in his neck, and continuously grinding your cunt onto james’ dick.

“fuck angel... just like that.” he moaned while tightening his grip

“f-fuck jamie-“ you whimpered in his ear, clawing at his shoulders.

“you’re doing amazing pretty girl, keep doing- fuck- you feel so good around me.” he praised you while groaning.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

SO JAMES LOVES HAVING HIS HAIR PULLED IN BED; WHEN HES GOING DOWN ON YOU, IN MISSIONAIRY, WHEN YOUR RIDING HIM JUST ALL THE TIME SO WHEN U PLAY WITH THAT MANZ HAIR HE COULD THROW YOU OVER IN SECONDS AND GET U ON THAT BED.

“so fucking tired.” james muttered walking into the common room after a two hour detention with filch.

he saw your body displayed on the vermillion couch, very opening that his body could just rest on yours while you were in a conversation with remus and sirius.

he quietly sprawled his head on your lap, his arms arranging around your waist as he gor comfortable.

you mindlessly started caressing his hair, and pulling on the tuffs lovingly, that was until you felt a hard pressure pressing against your calf that you remembered james’ small dirty secret.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

i don’t feel like he would be into hurting you? like slapping, knife kinks, seeing you hurt i don’t think he would find that arousing he would more just be concerned because he doesn’t like to see your hurting. i think he would still like spankings but i don’t think he would slap you in the face or anything.

“so y/n, d’you think you’d try it?” sirius asked you, while your eyes paid more attention on the potions text book infront of you.

“try what?” you muttered, clearly disinterested in the conversation.

“knives in bed.”

you brought your head up to look at him, cocking an eyebrow confused at his question.

“um, probably not. i don’t know that’s an odd question pads.” you muttered turning your attention back to your potions book.

“but wouldnt that like... hurt her?” you heard james say in a concerned and confused tone to sirius.

“could if you wanted too, but it’s more of the thrill.” sirius replied to james.

“no, i don’t think i want the ‘thrill’ m’good, thanks.” he agitatedly replied to sirius and looked at his own book.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

i feel like he would like both equally but he’s more of a giver at heart. it’s kind of whatever happens in the moment because when your thighs are wrapped around his head it’s like heaven but your pretty lips wrapped around his cock? also heaven.



your hands braced his thighs as your plunged your mouth deeper onto his girth, trying to take him all in while breathing for your knows.

“you take my cock so well pretty girl.” he praises to you, his hand in a makeshift pony tail holding your hair away from your face.

you went back to his tip, kissing and swirling your tongue around trying to catch your breath before pushing your mouth onto him keeping a fast past.

“i’m gonna cum-“ he groaned and his own release shooting ropes of cum down youve throat cut him off.

he slowly rid out his high as you continue to suck and then swirled your tongue around the tip and opening your mouth to show that you had swallowed his release.

“good girl.”

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

i feel like he changes pace a lot? sometimes it’s really fast, and deep but sometimes very slow and passionate and deep and loving. he’s a man of many talents and whatever the mood is he can keep that pace.

his hand had one firm grasp on your waist as he pounded you from behind and the other gripped the root of your hair.

“you gonna be a messy little girl?” he taunted you through gritted teeth

“y-yes.” you muttered through moans.

he had just lost a quidditch match to slytherin and you offered a solution.

something nice and rough.

and that’s exactly what the both of you wanted.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

i feel like they would happen from time to time but i feel like he would be more into proper sex because you are literally his only priority like getting you off is all he cares about so maybe there’s a quick a few times but definitely not all the time.

“shh if you’re not quiet someone’s going to walk walk by and hear.” james taunted you, your legs wrapped around his waist and your head dug into his neck trying to hold back your moans.

“james- i- i cant s’too much, too much.” you said while biting your lip, unable to see much do you the darkness of the broom closet.

“well sweet girl that’s what happens when you get needy during school hm? is my pretty little slut gonna cum all over my cock while anyone could walk in?” he began to mock you.

“mhm- yes.” your lip becoming dry and chapped from all the incessant biting, “please can i cum?”

“go on, cum y/n.”

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

i feel as long as it wasn’t hurting you or it ended up with you or him like getting with other people he would try it?

“are you sure, m’scared i might hurt you.” james murmured while tying your hands up to the bed post.

“m’fine, promise.” you assured him, that night you were trying something new. both of you had previously talked about ties and bondage and you wanted to try it once to see if you’d both like it.

you pulled on the ropes a bit making sure they weren’t cutting off the circulation of your wrists.

“see? m’good jamie.”

“ok but if something happens tell me, i don’t want you to hold back because i might be enjoying it you’re not.”

“james i promise.”

“i love you, y/n.”

“i love you too.”

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

that man happens to be a QUIDDITCH PRODIGY. HE IS A SEEKER. WHICH MEANS HE CAN LAST AWHILE. i believe that he would stop when you wanted to stop, like he could fuck you all night if he wanted too.

“one more darling, one more f’me.” his voice hoarse from the previous three rounds.

he wanted to know if you could go any more, ready to stop at any time.

“one more?” you said breathily to him.

“just one.”

“yes daddy, i want you, please.” you plead to your bespectacled boyfriend, you began clenching around nothing feeling empty again.

“mhm please, please i want you.”

“alright darling, no need to fret. m’right here.” he assured.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

i think he’s more like “why would you need those when you have me.” type of guy. like i don’t feel like he would have them even for punishments he would rather do it himself, even because he would feel closer to you like he’d rather fuck and tease you then silicone (bruh 😭)

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

i feel like you would do more of the teasing because he would automatically become obdient to you. if he was teasing it wouldn’t be for long because he would fuck himself from watching you squirm and tease you.

his palm rested on the inside of your thigh, tracing little shapes as goosebumps rose onto your skin.

“nervous, darling?” he teased in your ear while you were trying to converse with peter about arithmancy homework during dinner at the great hall.

“james. stop. teasing.” you said through gritted teeth, your legs squirming at his fingers grazing your panties.

“but you’re so beautiful like this, about to make a mess during dinner? think that’s polite y/n?” he mocked you, he loved that he had that effect on you.

you turned towards his face that was almost touching the shell of your ear.

“if you keep doing this i won’t fuck you for a month.” you whispered, venom like words leaving your throat.

his sapphire eyes quickly widened as he moved his hand by the cap of your knee. you smirked as he was almost frantic by your words.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

he wants the whole hogwarts castle to know that you’re his so he is loud. he groans, he moans, he dirty talks, he moans your name like he is EXTRA with it. sometimes you almost have to shush him but he’s not having any of that.

“james, hush! you’re going to get all the prefrecfs scrambling around the room if you’re to loud!” you said covering his mouth, feeling him smirk against your palm.

“but darling, that’s the whole point. don’t you want everyone to know who you belong to?” you flushed and pulled your hand away from his face.

“that’s what i thought love.”

“you know sirius will never let us live this down, bet he can hear from the common room.”

“then let’s give him a show, shall we?”

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

cockwarming. if you’re being a brat that’s one of the ways he’s gonna punish you, while he’s working on a prank and his arm is just around your waist to make you stop squirming.

“if you’re going to be a brat angel, i’m gonna start treating you like one.” he murmured to your squirming figure as he tried to figure out a new prank on snape.

you were sat on top of his cock, clenching and squirming almost begging for him to touch you.

“jamie please i need you, please, please please.” you begged him, yet no avail. a determined look on his face as he was scribbling on the parchment.

he swatted your bum, you jolted a bit at the sudden friction of his hand and began to whine.

he looked at you, a dark look in his eyes which shut you up immediately because you knew what that look meant.

“hmm, so you can listen to the rules? good girl.”

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

that man is big and thick and he KNOWS HE IS. i’d say 8inches hard?

you rested your bum on to your calves before scooching up to this belt buckle as he was standing, holding a faux-ponytail of your hair between his calloused fingers.

“are you sure, y/n? you don’t have to if you don’t want too.” he looked down at you, puling your eyes to look in his sapphire ones.

“m’sure james.” you assured him, undoing the buckle and swiftly pulling down his boxers and uniform pants at the same time.

his shirt discarded on the floor earlier, his dick slapping his clenched stomach. he was already hard from your teasing and grinding earlier.

your eyes widened at his size, nervous how you would fit it all in your mouth.

“what’s wrong darling?” he started to get concerned at your frozen state.

“nothing.. y-your just, so big.” you said looking at his cock and hearing a chuckle in the backround.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

i feel like it’s pretty high but it’s always depending on you, he would rather die than force you to do anything if you weren’t feeling it or just didn’t want too. so if you’re up for anything than so is he.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

if it’s during the day i don’t think he would get that tired, but if it was during the night and he just finished aftercare i feel like you would lay on his chest if he hadn’t worked you hard enough and you guys would just talk about anthing. but if you guys did a lot of rounds and you were on the verge of slumber he would just kiss your hairline and praise you as you fell asleep.

“my good girl.” he said while kissing your forehead. “i love you so so much, you’re the only one for me.” his hand dragging against the arch of your back, the only thing seperating him from your skin was the shirt he put on you.

“my sweets, does everything for me. how could i have gotten so lucky.” he whispered on the shell of your ear.

“hmm, jamie been asking myself the same thing.” you murmured, sleep almost pulling you under but not enough for you to reply to him.

“goodnight james. i love you.”

“i love you more, my sweets.”

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[t-o-m-hollands]

Chapter eight

Summery: Tom is part of the Firm, a fearless London gang. You knew each other as children, before everything changed. Now your paths cross again.

Pairing: Tom and female reader.

Themes: Mob!Tom, Peaky Blinders inspired, period piece – this is set in 1961, London.

Warnings: Violence, kidnapping, one hit to the head. Smut. I mean, it’s a mob!AU so generally just a lot of talking of murder, fighting and violence. THIS IS A +18 STORY. 

Word count: 5k. Sorry, but this is an eventful chapter so got a bit long. I didn’t want it to end in a cliffhanger so I sort of had to go on a bit

An absolute massive thank you to @plantlungs​ for being an amazing editor and for having the patient of a saint and correct all my misplaced commas and confused word choices. 

READ PREVIOUS CHAPTERS HERE

Recap of the story so far: Tom is part of and working himself up in the Firm; the feared London gang. Its leader is a certain Fabien Towner. After an attack on Harrison it’s clear that they have a traitor in their midst who is also working for the rival gang created by a man called Jack Flanagan. While Tom is trying to bring the attacker in for questioning he meets you; his old school love (and unfortunately for him, the daughter of the home secretary who has spent most of his career trying to put an end to organized crime).  After an interesting night where you end up as a witness for a murder Tom essentially has to kidnap you until he knows what to do with you. Ending up deciding to let you live, and in doing so risking his own life, he lies to Fabien about there being no witness to the crime.  

Some time later you and Tom meet again at the club Romantique, as Tom has gone there to negotiate with Jack Flanagan. You go home with Tom that night and the two of you begin an affair. Fabien, finding out about the affair and of who your father is, is delighted, thinking that he can use you as leverage to the home secretary.  

Not many days later Tom is attacked by Flanagan’s gang, and he flees to your house where you patch him up. He tells you of Fabien’s plan, and asks you to work with him in order to bring the traitor in – the only thing that can possibly distract the Firm’s leader from you. You agree to help him.  

***

All you have is your fire

And the place you need to reach

Don't you ever tame your demons

But always keep 'em on a leash

arsonist's lullaby - hozier

***

You wake with a kiss to your forehead. Opening your heavy eyelids, you’re met with a smile, and a pair of sparkling brown eyes.

“Morning” Tom says quietly. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed for the day in his usual suit, hair fixed and the outlining of a gun showing underneath his suit jacket. 

“Good morning,” you respond, voice soft and full of sleep. Sitting up in the soft bed and pulling the sheets around you, you lean closer towards him. Gently you place your hand on his cheek, stroking his skin you feel the faint trace of stubble. He smells of his lemon and cedar soap and faintly of cigarettes. Pressing your lips softly against his other cheek, and then on his jawline,  you whisper against his skin, “Do you really have to go?”

You can tell he’s focusing on his breathing, and as you lean back his dark eyes, glossed over and pupils dilated, are focused on your lips. His own mouth is slightly opened, and he’s leaning in towards you. Just as he’s about to press his lips against yours he murmurs, “Afraid so, darling.” He leans back and winks at you, a devilish smile on his lips. 

“Don’t worry, angel, I’ll give you everything you want soon enough.”He stands up and moves towards the door. “I’ll be back before you know it, just doing some collecting today; shouldn’t be more than an hour. I’ll come back and we’ll have lunch, yeah?”

He’s leaned against the doorway, hands in suit pockets, the stolen Rolex on his wrist glistening in the early morning light coming in through the window. He’s all wicked smiles and dimples and his eyes are gleaming as he looks at you; sitting in the middle of the bed, white sheets pulled around you and hair loose, your skin kissed by the sun streaming in.

You smile back at him and letting go of the sheets you let them fall around you. Leaning back against your elbows you slowly spread your bent legs; looking at him all the while. He’s got his dark eyes fixated on where your spread legs meet. Slowly walking towards you, like a hunter approaching its prey. Reaching the bed he leans over it, grabs hold of your thighs, and pulls you towards him until he’s pressed up against your naked crotch. Leaning over you, hands resting on either side of your face, he whispers in a low voice against your lips, “Such a devious little temptress, aren’t you?”

He leans back and falls down on his knees. Kissing the soft inside of your thigh he bites the sensitive skin, leaving a wet and burning spot, he blows cold air on it and you shiver. He looks up at you, wicked smile in place and eyes sparkling with pleasure. “You could tempt a saint you know?” he says, voice thick with bewildered wonder as he presses his soft lips against your cunt, before licking up your slit, eagerly. “How’s a poor devil like me supposed to stand a chance?” 

***  

There’s a flickering light above your head and the hallway smells of something rotten. The dark medallion wallpaper and crimson-coloured carpet make it feel like the room is spinning slightly around you. 

You’re just about to carefully lock the door to Tom’s apartment, having decided to go home and change before lunch, when you hear a creaking on the floor behind you. Something like alarm bells go off in your head, and you turn around only to be hit with something heavy and sharp right by your mouth.   

A ringing in your ear, and the whole room seems to change perspective, turn on its side somehow. It takes you a second to realize that it isn’t the room that has fallen; it is you. Something above you moves, but you can’t see clearly, just the outlines of a blurred shadow coming closer and closer and a smell you can’t place but is stronger than the rotten smell of the hallway. And then a wet cloth covers your mouth.

Memories of when you were a child, swimming in the municipal pool, flash before your eyes and you can’t understand why.

Only, just before everything turns dark, does it hit you.  

Chloroform. 

*** 

The first thing your mind registers as you wake is a sore neck. A sore neck and a stinging nose and a back that feels uncomfortably stiff. You try to open your eyes but find the world just as dark as when you had them closed. Trying to move your hands you realize that they have been tied behind the uncomfortable chair you’ve been placed in.  

Panic rises like bile in your throat and you want to scream, but the sound refuses to leave your lips, as if the panic itself is blocking it from leaving. Trying to kick your legs you realize that they too have been bound.  

“She’s awake,” someone mutters behind you and you freeze, heart beating so hard in your chest that it’s hard to hear anything but the blood rushing through your system. “Go tell Jack,” the voice orders, and a pair of heavy footsteps move across the floor and soon a door opens and shuts.  

Laying all your focus on your breathing, trying not to hyperventilate, you try to keep in control of yourself, though you can feel sweat begin to form on your forehead. You feel hyper- aware of your own body, of the rope digging into the fragile skin of your wrists, of the hard chair underneath you, of your own mortality and the dangerous situation you are in. You had been in a situation like this before, in a now very familiar apartment in Mile’s End. But even though you had been frightened then, it is nothing compared to the terror that grips hold of you now.

Soon a door opens, and footsteps move across the floor again.  

“Now boys, is this the way you treat a lady?” A deep voice roars in an Irish brogue. “Have I taught you no manners?” The footsteps move closer and closer until they’re standing behind you.  

“You big lads so scared of a girl you need to tie her up?” You hear how the man fiddles with something, only to realise that he’s untying the rope around your legs. Soon you feel the rope loose; but you are too frightened to even try to move them out of their uncomfortable position.   

“Now unless you think this tied- up wench will overpower me, I suggest you get a fucking move on, yeah?”  the man continues, as he frees your wrists as well.  

No verbal answer follows, just the sound of a dozen of boots moving across the floor until eventually, the door shuts; leaving the room in silence apart from your ragged breaths and rabbit heart; pounding so hard in your chest you’re sure it’s clear for anyone to hear.   

Then there’s a sudden movement by your head and then – you can see again.   

Disoriented you blink into the light. The man, Jack you presume, pulls a chair across the floor, the scraping noise almost alarmingly loud to your panicked senses, and he sits down opposite you. Carefully you move your stiff hands from their position behind your back, slowly moving them to your front and placing them on your knees. 

“There we go,” Jack says in a low, gruff voice that tells of years of smoking.  

 He’s probably in his early fifties, with blond hair that has begun to turn white and a neatly trimmed beard. A long scar is etched across his cheek. Wearing a rather worn grey suit he’s leaned back in his chair, looking relaxed and comfortable; the very opposite to how you are feeling. There’s something both harmless and, at the same time, absolutely terrifying about him. He’s almost disarming in his lack of threats, his slow, low way of talking and the patient, curious way he’s looking at you. You can’t get a read of the man, and that frightens you.  

The room you’re in doesn’t help to make you feel more comfortable. It looks like an abandoned old apartment, wallpapers half torn down and a broken chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It’s dark outside the dirty window, and you wonder for how long you’ve been unconscious. An entire day must have passed since this morning.  

“Now girl, you and I are gonna have a little chat about an old friend of mine,” he starts. 

You don’t respond, waiting for him to reveal his hand before you make up your mind about how to play your cards with this unknown man. 

“Now, child,” he continues, “what do you know of Fabien Towner?” 

You’re taken aback at that. Somehow, subconsciously, you must have assumed that this kidnapping by this evident gangster had something to do with your father and his work as home secretary. That you had been picked out to provide information about a man you had never as much as laid eyes on had not occurred to you.  

“All I know is what’s written in the newspapers.” You answer, only somewhat truthfully, since Tom has told you a few things about the feared London mobster as well.  

“Sweetheart,” he chuckles, a deep, throaty sound, “do I look like the sort of man who reads the papers?” He’s smiling at you, though it seems malignant. You are reminded of a cat, playing with its food before it eats it. “I know better than to believe a word that's written in them,” he adds and grins, “after all, they write that I’m a bad man.”

“But alright then, let’s play that game,” he snaps, and the sudden change from almost playful to deadly serious has your heart faltering in your chest. “What do you know of a young mister Tom Holland, hm?” 

If your heart was faltering in your chest before, it positively stops beating now. Your first instinct is to deny your knowledge of Tom’s existence. To say you’ve never heard that name. But you must keep your head cold, be calm and clever. This man knows very well that you know who Tom is, you were after all attacked when leaving his apartment.  

“Not much,” you say, and your voice is frailer than you’d hoped. “He’s just a man I’ve been seeing”.  

Jack’s hard, blue eyes are fixed on yours. He observes you for a while before saying, “You seemed very cozy with him at Romantique. I’m the owner of that club, I damn well know who frequents it, and what they get up to in it.”

It hits you then, and you want to groan at how slow you’ve been. This is Jack, the Jack Flanagan, the owner of club Romantique and Fabien’s sworn enemy, who has infiltrated the Firm with a traitor. 

“Yes, I met Tom there, but I don’t know anything about Fabien Towner.”  

Jack keeps his intense eyes fixed on you, as if he’s trying to read any slight change in your face. He scratches the roughened skin of his scarred cheek almost absentmindedly. “Come on now, I know how young men work when they’re trying to impress a pretty girl. They boast about how big and bad and ballsy they are. He’s told you about his,” and there’s a slight pause and a wicked grin before he continues, “profession, I presume?”

“All I know is he’s part of the Firm,” you say and sniff, “do you think he’d tell me anything? I’m just some girl he fucks. I don’t think he cares at all about me.” Your voice breaks as you speak, and two tears fall down your cheeks as you lie. They aren’t hard to fabricate in your current state of mind. You need to make him believe that Tom would never spill any secrets to you, because if this man in front of you,; his entire aura shouting of danger, finds any hint of the secrets stuck in your throat he’s bound to beat them out of you. 

“Now that’s not a very nice thing to do,” Jack says in a low voice, and a smile spreads over his lips. “How would you like some revenge?” 

Fear holds such a hard grip on your heart then that you are sure it’s bound to stop beating altogether. “What do you mean?” you ask, trying to hide your terror.  

Jack smiles even wider, and something like a shiver moves up your spine. “You see,” he starts in his broad brogue, “old Fabien is not a man of many weaknesses. He’s a, well, I guess you can say a friend of mine. I know him well. I know what makes him tick.” He leans forward, resting his arms on his widespread legs, his intense eyes still fixed on yours. “Now I want him to stop ticking.”

Trying to swallow down the panic you answer in a cool voice, “and how could I possibly help with that?” 

“Like I said, Fabien is not a man of many weaknesses. But he’s got a blind spot when it comes to that lad. I’ve heard the rumours; the Devil’s Boy, that’s what they call him, and that’s the way Fabien sees him. I’ve met Tom, on the night you danced with him in my nightclub in fact. And he's brought up by the devil alright,” he pauses, a grim smile on his face. “In order to get to Fabien, I need to get to the boy. And that’s where you come in, miss. See, Tom is Fabien’s weakness, so I’m gonna need you to become Tom’s weakness.” 

“And how do you expect me to achieve that?” you ask, voice shaking slightly despite all your efforts to keep it under control. You feel like you’re trembling all over, like your very soul is rattling inside of you. Nothing seems real, nothing in this nightmarish scenario or in this strange room; nothing except for those bleak, intense eyes looking at you, and that low, gruff voice speaking of betrayal of the worst kind.  

“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you? Like a little bird. I’m sure you could convince him to stick around, to open up; to trust you. Then all this little bird needs to do is fly to me and sing her song, and I shall see to the rest, and you will have your revenge.” 

You feel ice-cold all over, as if the blood itself in your veins have frozen. “And what kind of song does the bird sing? What is it that you need to know from me?” 

“For now, I just need you to make him trust you. When the time is right, when everything is ready to be set in motion, I shall tell you the plan. What do you say?”  

You don’t know if he’s honestly offering you a choice or not, if he’d even let you live if you refused him, but slowly you nod your head, and the smile grows bigger on his face, and his cold, blue eyes sparkle.   

 “Good,” he says, and rises from his chair. “Now it’s time for this little bird to be set free.” 

*** 

Your legs feel unsteady and unsure underneath you as you make your way up the familiar steps to your house. You can hear the car that dropped you off drive away, but you don’t look back, you don’t ever want to look back again but it feels like you will spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder after this. You feel heavy all over, every limb slowly moving forward underneath the weight, burdened with a terrible secret.   

Letting yourself in, you quietly make your way through the hall, wanting to avoid seeing anyone since that would mean you’d have to explain your split lip and your sore wrists. The skin of your lip pulses uncomfortably. You must have attained the injury this morning as you got attacked outside of Tom’s apartment. 

With quiet feet you move up the stairs to your bedroom, needing only to change your clothes and leave a message for your father to let him know you will be sleeping at a friend’s house for a night or two. You jot the message down in spidery letters, so unlike your normally neat handwriting; your hands refusing to collaborate with you as they keep shaking. You leave the message on your desk, knowing that Mason will find it later and pass the information on to your father. 

You fill the bathtub with water and scented oil, needing to wash the reminders of today off of you before you are ready to face Tom. Quickly ridding yourself out of your dirty dress, you step into the lukewarm water and start the process of scrubbing your skin clean. After having washed up, you change into another dress, feeling great relief in feeling the freshly washed fabric against your skin.

Looking at yourself in the mirror you cannot help but be taken aback at the sight. You have a split and swollen lip, your hair is a mess and your eyes seem bigger than normal; as if you are a frightened animal. Knowing there is nothing to do about the lip you try to smooth your hair, before giving up, deciding instead to pin it up into something a little more respectable.  

In your new dress and hair, you look a little more put together, though your eyes remain frightened.  

Packing a small bag with some essential clothes and hygiene products you creep out of the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind you. Your father’s voice booms out from the library, as he’s speaking on the telephone with someone. Passing the door on your tiptoes, as not to make a sound, a name caught your attention.  

“Yes, Fabien’s boy.” 

You stop dead in your tracks, listening carefully as your father goes on. “He’s been causing uproar in all the underworld. He set fire to a pub in Camden this afternoon, one of Flanagan’s places, and he’s been involved in a dozen fights all over the East End.”

Your breath hitches, but you force yourself to be quiet as your father keeps talking. “No, apparently he’s looking for some woman. A kidnapping they say.” Your father listens as the voice on the other side of the phone speaks before he keeps going. “Yes, of course, but if this means we have another gang war on our hands there needs to be readjustments. 

You walk away, as quickly and quietly as you can, and step back out into the night. Never have you been in such a hurry to find a taxi in your life.

*** 

After having paid the driver, you rush up to Tom’s apartment, all four stairs, never slowing for a moment. You’re not sure of what you’re about to meet in the apartment but as you push the door open and rush inside you are relieved to see the figure of a man standing there.

Only to soon realise that it is not Tom. 

The man is blond, and about the same age as Tom and dressed much the same in a dark suit. One of his arms is wrapped up in bandages. You recognize him as the man who came to pick Tom up the morning after you spent your first night at his place. A friend then, and not a foe. 

He stands up from the sofa when he sees you, and smiles, seemingly relieved. “Thank fuck,” he mutters, moving closer. Standing in front of you, impressive in his length and stature, he observes your wounded face with a frown. 

“Any other injuries?” He asks, voice collected but underneath his calm stature, you think you can sense a wave of anger. 

You shake your head, unsure of what to say. 

He nods, takes a gentle hand on your arm and leads your numb body to the sofa, gesturing for you to sit down. After you have done so he moves across the floor to the phone, his long legs taking wide strides. Dialing in a number he stands there, leaning against the wall, still observing you as he waits for the number to go through.

“Yeah, Harry? It’s Haz,” he says into the phone. “She’s here.”

There’s a loud voice on the other end of the line but you can’t make out what it is saying. “Yeah, yeah, well you need to let him know then, don’t you? Before he causes any more damage.” More silence as he listens to the other man. “No, apart from a split lip she’s unharmed,” and he looks over you again as he speaks, “she looks pretty fucking shaken though so get a fucking move on, yeah?” He hangs up. 

In your wild haze of suffocating numbness, it strikes you how unlike Tom this Haz is, despite your first confusion. His accent is polished and posh despite his attempts to hide it. His back is almost impossibly straight as he’s holding himself upright and his young face looks taut. You wonder how a young man like this ended up within the ranks of the Firm. 

He crouches down in front of you as you sit on the sofa, his knees bent until you are at eye level.  “Have you had anything to eat?” He asks in a soft voice that takes you with surprise. 

“No,” you mumble, only realizing now that it’s the case. But you’ve been so full of terror the entire day you’ve hardly even noticed. Haz has a frown on his face and a worried look in his eyes as he scans you over. 

“Alright,” he sighs and gets up, moving across the room to the kitchen. You keep your eyes ahead, fixated on faded wallpaper in front of you, as you hear clattering and muttered swears coming from the kitchen. 

Some while later Haz is back, a plate of sandwiches in one hand and a steaming mug of tea in the other. “Sorry,” he says, placing it down on the table in front of you, “fucker hasn’t got any milk.” 

You tell him you don’t mind, and thank him for his kindness, before tucking in. Only after having nearly devoured the first sandwich do you fully realize how hungry you’ve been. Haz sits down on the worn leather armchair, leaned forward and resting his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped in his lap. It is as if he’s ready to jump into action on the first sign of danger. He watches as you eat. 

“Hungry, ey?” He asks with a smile, as you swallow the last of your sandwich, reaching for the tea. 

“Famished,” you confess. 

For a few moments everything is silent in the darkened room, only lit up by the dim light coming from the kitchen. Outside you hear a car drive by. 

“How did he know of the abduction?” You ask in the end. 

Haz’s mouth tightens into a grimace, as if remembering something unpleasant. “The landlady saw as they carried you out to the car. She recognized you as Tom’s girl and let him know as soon as he came back.”

“How did he take it?” you ask, with reluctance. 

Haz looks away from you, avoids your eyes; the frown on his face growing deeper. “Let’s just say the boy’s got a talent for destruction when he puts his mind to it.”

“Where is he now?” 

“Well, last I heard he was,” he pauses, edits himself in the search for the right word, “he was interrogating someone in Hackney, trying to find a lead of where they took you,” he sighs. And then in a bitter tone, he adds, “I would have gone with him,” another sigh, “but out of combat, unfortunately. So I was put to stay here and wait to see if you’d return. Harry was placed in the pub, much to his indignation; ever the boy of action, while Fabien made Sam and a few others go after Tom. To try and reel him in a little.”

A bang, and then Tom comes crashing through the door. Harrison is on his feet, almost before you’ve registered the sound of the door slamming against the wall, gun in hand and aiming at the man in the hall. When he sees who it is he lowers the weapon and breathes out. 

Your eyes remain fixed on the man striding over to you. It’s like he’s unable to look away from you and as soon as you get within an arm's reach he pulls you towards him. With a hand carefully cupping your chin, he inspects your face, eyes glued to your split lip, a deep frown on his face. 

He turns to Harrison, who just nods at him; the taut frown relaxing and a smile pulling at his lips. “Alright, that’s me done for the night.”

“Harry’s sulking at the pub if you feel like cheering him up,” Tom tells him, still holding onto you. 

Harrison moves to the door, snorts loudly, and says in a voice that sounds done for, “You fucking Holland boys and your goddamn sulking.” And then he’s out, the door closing behind him.

Tom rests his forehead against yours, breathing slowly. “Hi,” he says, voice a quiet whisper. His fingers don’t stop stroking your cheek for a second. Then, “I’m so sorry you got dragged into this.” It’s a savage kind of remorse, real like a physical presence in the room. To think that on this very morning you had laid in bed, wordlessly tempting him into staying there with you for a while.

You should have stayed in that bed forever with him.  

“Is it not your fault,” you tell him, knowing that it’s useless, and true enough, he shakes his head at the idea. 

 A deep sigh escapes him, as if he’s letting out a breath he’s been holding for a long time. You breathe him in, the familiar lemon and cedar soap; the faint trace of smoke. 

“Tonight I’m going to take care of you,” he says, stroking your cheek with his long, ring- clad finger, “gonna make sure that you’re alright.” He presses his lips softly against your temple. “And tomorrow,” he continues, voice hardened steel now, “tomorrow I’m going to take care of him.”

 “No,” you say softly, looking at the floor.  

 Dead silence wills the room for several heartbeats. Then, voice bewildered, “What?”

 He’s leaning away from you, though his big hands are still covering your jawline, your throat. “You can’t go after him,” you say, taking a slow breath, staring at his shoes. Slowly you take in Tom’s appearance for the first time. When he had crashed into the apartment all your attention had been on his face, but now, now you see the state of him. The once white dress shirt he wore this morning is stained with blood and dirt and the sleeve on his jacket has a burn mark. 

Tom pushes your face up to meet his eyes. Reluctantly your eyes follow. “And why can’t I do that?” he asks slowly, through gritted teeth. 

“Because I’m working for him now,” you say, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. For a moment he goes completely still and before he can react you keep going. “He is going after Fabien, he wants to bring him down. He thinks you are Fabien’s weakness, so he’s hired me to become your weakness. He wants to use you against Fabien, and use me against you. I told him yes.” 

Tom lets go of you, takes a step away from you, looks at you with big, wounded eyes. “What have you done?” he asks, sounding almost defeated. 

“I could play this to our advantage, we could -” but he interrupts you with a roar.

“Have you lost your fucking mind? You don’t know these men! You don’t understand what they’re capable of. They’d enjoy murdering you if it comes to that. Jack Flanagan’s the sort of man that would kill over an insult, do you have any fucking idea how badly he’d take a betrayal?” 

“Don’t you understand?” I am working for him now, just as the traitor does. I can find out who it is and once we know, Fabian will kill the traitor and once he is gone he can go after Jack with full force. We can play them against each other, don’t you get it?”

Tom is stunned silent for a moment, thinking over what you’ve said with a horrified expression on his face. “Does he know, does Jack know who your father is?”

You are silent for a long time, biting your lip in worry. “I don’t know. But I think so. I didn’t have to leave my name or address and they still knew where to drop me off.”

Tom looks pale. His eyes big and glossy as he looks at you, shoulders tense as he’s holding himself together. “I see,” he says, trying to remain calm, “so the two most dangerous men in London are aware of your relation to your father and are both more than capable at using that as leverage if needed.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” you whisper.

And he’s in front of you again, holding onto your face, his body pressed tightly against yours, and maybe it’s imagination, but you think you can feel the drumming of his heartbeat underneath his chest; can feel your heart drum back to the beat of his. He’s breathing hard, slowly in and out, and his strong body is rigid, every nerve tense. You know that he’s trying to calm himself down; trying to get a hold of himself and all his fear and anger. Can feel it radiating off his body in waves. 

“I can do this, I can play them against each other.” You don’t know why you are whispering, except that maybe you want to make something in this whole situation gentle, in any way you know how. 

“I don’t like this, angel,” he says, his voice also a whisper, as he breathes slowly through his nose. “I really fucking hate this.”

You know that the road you have begun walking is a dangerous one, no doubt full of menace and doom. But you have chosen your road. “I know,” you whisper back, “but it’s the best shot we’ve got.”

You know, as you stroke his cheek, that you would do anything for him. Because it turns out that you are made up of the kind of never yielding devotion that is bound to end in tragedy, but as you look into his sad, brown eyes, tender as they look at you, you wonder if he isn’t made of the same. 

[nikki-writes-stuff]

Trigger Happy - Poe Dameron x Reader

Summary: You first met Poe Dameron while you were staying on the Resistance base as a refugee. But after you grow closer to him and to the rebels you live alongside, you decide you want to become a fighter pilot and give back to the movement that saved your life. But for some reason, General Dameron refuses to let you put yourself in danger. 

A/N: This fic contains smut! 18+ only, please! 

“No.”

“But I haven’t even said anything yet.”

“I know. But I’m getting really efficient with this little exchange of ours. If you’re here to keep asking for the same thing you always do, then the answer is no.”

You huffed and set your hands on your hips, trying to fix the general with your most intense glare. But all he did was raise his eyebrows and copy your posture.

“General, we need fighter pilots,” you protested. “We might have beaten the First Order, but the Republic still has enemies out there, and-“

“Hold on a second, I’m sorry,” Poe interrupted, holding up one of his hands. “But why do you keep saying we? Our? This isn’t your fight. You are a refugee; you and your family have a home to get back to.”

“I’m not just a scared girl in need of rescue anymore, Poe! I want to fight! I want to be one of the ones to usher in the new Republic! The new galaxy! My family doesn’t need me. You do.”

“I don’t need a damn thing from you,” Poe shook his head. “Other than for you to stay safe. And smart. Jesus, (Y/N), you don’t realize what it’s like out there.”

“I would if you’d let me learn! I was flying for my parents’ shipping company by the time I was ten years old! I could fly any kind of ship you throw at me-“

“But what about if that ship is being fired at? What if someone shoots you down; what then?” Poe walked around his desk to stand in front of you, shoving one of his hands into his pocket as the other pointed an accusatory finger at you. “And, by the way, the idea of a ten year old flying a ship is terrifying, not to mention very illegal in-“

“We’re not here to talk about my borderline questionable childhood.”

“Borderline? You can’t be serious-“

“My point is,” you spoke up, “that I can do this. And you still haven’t told me why you won’t let me even try.”

Poe’s jaw twitched, and you saw the look in his eyes grow even darker as they stared at you for just a moment too long.

“My word is final,” he eventually growled, brushing past you towards the flap in his tent. “You can stay here on base if you want, but the only ship you’ll be getting on from here is one headed towards your home planet.”

With that, he left you standing there, awash in shame and anger. There were so many people from all walks of life within the ranks of the Resistance – younger than you, older than you, with families and friends stretching all across the galaxy. And they were fighting, laying down their lives for a good cause.

Why wouldn’t he let you be one of them?

____________________

When you’d first found yourself in the Resistance base on the jungle moon of Ajan Kloss, you and your family had just fled your planet after a particularly brutal attack made by the First Order. Your mother had been one of the fighters in the old Rebellion against the Empire, and she’d still had some connections which brought you to the Resistance.

At first, the base had seemed strange and scary to you – always busy, like a beehive, with so many people and ships crowding it. But as you’d recovered from the shock of having to run away from home, and as you’d come out of your shell, you started making more and more friends.

The closest one of all, though, was Poe Dameron.

Typically, the pilot would be out on missions anywhere from Coruscant to the Outer Rim, but during your first week on base, he’d been kept in the medical bay due to an injury to his arm. You’d met on your second day as a refugee in the mess hall. Or, rather, a particularly large tent that served as the mess hall.

You’d been picking at your bowl of porridge; your family was somewhere else on the compound, so you were on your own until dinner time while they figured out when it would be safe go back home.

“Mind if I sit here?”

You’d looked up to see the famous pilot smiling down at you. You’d heard tales about the best pilot in the Resistance, and you’d even seen him from far away before, but it was only when he was standing so close to you that you’d realized just how handsome he was.

“U-um, sure,” you stammered, gesturing for him to sit across from you.

“So, we have porridge for lunch today,” he sighed, sinking into the offered seat. “And dinner. And I’m willing to bet five credits we’ll have it for all three meals tomorrow.”

You smiled and shrugged, letting the blob you had on your spoon plop back down into your bowl.

“It’s not so bad,” you remarked. “Personally, I like foods that are…odorless, tasteless, and for the most part texture-less.”

“Man, this place must be paradise for you, then, huh?” he asked, grinning. You grinned back, delighted when you saw a diastema separating his front teeth. Coupled with the thick stubble on his cheeks, it made his smile decidedly unique and even more breathtaking.

“Well,” you replied, “where I ran away from, everything was on fire, so most places in the galaxy are paradise by comparison.”

He’d chuckled before reaching into the pocket of the navy blue jacket he was wearing.

“I bet I can spice it up even more for you,” he’d said, drawing out a small bottle filled with a thick brown liquid. “Do ya trust me?”

You’d furrowed your eyebrows, chuckling at the unexpected question.

“I mean, yeah,” you answered. “If I can’t trust the poster child of the Resistance, then who can I?”

His nose had wrinkled a little bit at the term “poster child”, but he’d just gone ahead and poured out a spoonful of the liquid into your porridge.

“Stir that around and tell me how it is,” he instructed. You watched your meal turn a light brown color as you complied, and when you brought a bit of it up to your lips, your eyes widened.

“What did you do to it?!” you demanded. “It tastes amazing now, like-“

“Cinnamon rolls?” he finished for you. “I picked up this stuff in a Corellian bakery once. It can make anything taste good. I always keep a bag full of it on base for anytime I find myself stuck here for an extended period of time.”  

“You’re a wise man,” you said, taking another bite of your now-delicious food.

The man sitting across from you gave a small bow at your praise before holding his hand out to you.

“Poe Dameron, by the way,” he introduced himself. “Although it sounds as if my reputation precedes me.”

You’d hurried to swallow down your porridge before shaking his hand, giving it a quick squeeze before letting your hand fall back down to the table. You told him your name in return and listened to him repeat it under his breath. Something about the way he said it made your cheeks heat up, and you ducked your head as you kept eating.

“My reputation doesn’t quite precede me yet,” you’d said. “But I’ll bet those same five credits you mentioned earlier that one day it will.”

After that, the two of you had been inseparable anytime he was on base. He would always find a way to search you out and spend time with you, either showing you his x-wing or taking you on a tour of the area around the encampment. He became your closest friend, and when General Organa passed away, the first person he’d gone to afterwards had been you.

You could still feel his arms around you if you looked back to that moment; you’d known how close he was to her, and so you’d said nothing as he buried his head in your shoulder. You’d only stroked his hair and swayed with him, letting him hold you and showing him that he wasn’t alone.

After that day, though, there had been a distinct change in your relationship. You’d only been on base for a few months, but you’d grown comfortable with Poe and your little routines with him. Now, though, with the weight of being a general on his shoulders and with so much planning to do, he didn’t have much time for you.

You’d busied yourself with helping the other members of the Resistance, though. After your first week on base, you’d quickly started to enjoy helping out with ship repairs. But after the Battle of Exogol and the defeat of the First (and Final) Order, you’d decided that you didn’t want to go home with your family.

The first time you’d asked Poe to become a fighter pilot, he’d laughed you off, thinking it was a joke. The second time, he’d also laughed, but there had been a steel to it. He’d scoffed at the idea and dismissed you, and from then on, it had become like a challenge to you.

Now, though, after his latest rejection, you stormed out of his tent, feeling the distinct sense of defeat at the finality of his words. Tears threatened to spill out of your eyes as you pushed past other Resistance members, but you didn’t stop even when the ones who you’d befriended tried to stop and ask you what was wrong.

You didn’t pause until you’d reached Poe’s x-wing. BB-8 was rolling around, fiddling with some wires on a nearby control panel, and he offered you a chipper beep in greeting.

“Hey, BB,” you sighed, kneeling down to give the droid a pat on the head. “Can I go in for a few minutes? I just need to think.”

The droid made a questioning beep, and you smiled weakly, trying to wipe away the tears still tracking down your face.

“No, I promise I’m not going anywhere with it. If I was gonna blow this popsicle stand, you know I’d have to take you with me.”

He made another beep before pushing something on the panel before him, and with a hiss the cockpit of the ship was opening.

“Thanks, buddy,” you murmured, patting him one more time before climbing up the ship.

As it turned out, ‘a few minutes’ lasted longer than you’d expected. You watched the sun as it sank over the horizon and stayed there in the pilot’s seat long after the stars came out. Your tears had dried a long time ago, but you didn’t want to go back to the tent you shared with your family just yet.

Soon enough, you were the last person in the shipyard; BB-8 had rolled away after you’d promised to close the cockpit on your way out. But you didn’t mind the solitude. If anything, you relished in the quiet of the night, with the only sounds coming from the insects and birds as they rustled about in the jungle.

With a sigh, you crawled out of the cockpit and laid down on the long nose of the ship, stretching out and looking up at the stars.

“Someday, I’ll see you up close,” you whispered to them. “One day I’ll fly amongst you.”

“You planning on stealing my x-wing?”

You sat up with a gasp, turning to your left to see Poe standing on the ground beside his ship. You scooted over when he started climbing up beside you, and soon enough your bodies were parallel as you both looked up at the night sky. The two of you were just barely able to fit beside each other on the ship’s nose; as it was, his entire right side was pressed up against your left. But despite your frustrations with him, you didn’t mind the nearness.

“BB-8 said you’d be up here,” Poe finally spoke. “I’d been looking for you for a good hour or so.”

“You know, I would say I’m sorry, but… I’m totally not.”

You heard him laugh quietly, and it was enough to pull a smile out of you. After that, the two of you were quiet for so long that you felt as if you would dose off beside him, but then he broke the silence once more.

“Do you know why I don’t want you out there fighting?” he asked. You’d never heard his voice sound so soft.

“I would if you just told me,” you fired back.

You turned your head but found Poe already watching you, and what you were going to say next died in your throat when you realized just how close you were. Your noses were almost touching as you lay there, and his eyes were half-lidded as they watched you.

“I think,” he whispered, “that you know why I don’t want you to fight.”

You bit your lip, feeling the breath escape out of your lungs as he stared at you. Gulping, you looked away, back at the stars, and tried to fight back the butterflies in your stomach.

“I don’t-“

His hand was on your cheek, tilting your face back to his, and before you could say anything else he was kissing you. His lips were everything you’d imagined – warm, dry, and so fucking soft. You let out a noise that was embarrassingly close to a moan when his tongue swiped at your lower lip, and you yielded to him without a second thought, letting his tongue dance against yours as a hand on your hip drew you closer to him.

Time stood still as the two of you kissed on his x-wing, and you felt as if your body was moving through syrup as he rolled on top of you to lay between your legs. You felt as if your body was on fire when you felt his heavy, hard length pressed against the apex of your thighs, and you moaned against when his hips rolled against yours.

“This is why,” he breathed, cupping your face while his hips kept grinding against you. “This is why I can’t let you fight, baby. I can’t lose you.”

You gripped his shoulders and flipped the two of you over, silencing Poe’s startled yelp with another kiss. You straddled him and kept the same pace his hips had set before, feeling him getting harder with every roll of your hips.

“You’re not going to lose me,” you whispered, your lips still brushing against his. “I’m not going to go anywhere, Poe. I’m not just asking to fight; I’m asking to be by your side. Throughout whatever may come our way.”

You pulled back to look down at him, feeling all of the emotions you’d tried to keep suppressed blooming inside of you. How had you not realized until now that you loved him? And how had you not known that he loved you just as much?

If the look on Poe’s face was anything to go by, he was having a similar internal debate, but then he rolled you over again, holding your wrists down as he pinned you with a glare.

“…You will have at least a month of training before you ever leave the atmosphere,” he asserted. “And before you even think about fighting anyone, you’ll have to prove to me that you’re ready to. Understood?”

A grin slowly overtook your face, and you hurried to agree with him, nodding vigorously.

“Yes! Yes, I promise, Poe, whatever you want. I know that I can do this.”

Poe eventually let his grip on your wrists loosen, and his eyes softened when he saw how excited you were. With a smile, he pushed some of your hair back behind your ear before cupping your cheek and kissing you once more.

His motions were no longer hurried while he kissed you, and his hips rocked as a slow, even pace now. His hands moved down your body, pushing beneath the thin shirt you were wearing to trail along your skin. You gasped when you felt his fingers move underneath your bra, but he swallowed the sound with another searing kiss as he started running his thumbs over your nipples.

You let your eyes close, arching up against him and feeling yourself getting wetter as he kept touching you. Your own hands pushed beneath his shirt, feeling the hard planes of his stomach and the smatter of hair descending down past his belt.

“You gotta tell me now if you want me to stop,” he rasped, starting to push your pants down your hips. “Because if you ask me a couple minutes from now, I don’t know if I’ll be able to.”

You pressed your thighs together upon hearing how rough his voice sounded; he was panting against you, his warm breath fanning out over your face while his fingers ran along the hem of your panties.

“Please, Poe,” you murmured, tugging at his belt. “I need you.”

The man above you smirked, never letting his eyes leave yours as he started pushing your panties down with your trousers.

“You need me, huh?” he repeated. “You’re gonna have to be more specific, baby.”

You narrowed your eyes, squirming when you felt the cold metal of the ship against your ass.

“I should’ve known you’d be cheeky in bed,” you lamented.

“We’re not technically in a bed.”

“You know what I mean!”

He chuckled, crawling down your body to press his lips against your inner thigh.

“You still haven’t told me what you ‘need’ me to do, sweetheart.”

You were about to tell him that you needed him to piss off, but then you felt him lean in and lick a stripe up your pussy, flicking his tongue right as he reached your clit. Your legs twitched at the sudden feeling and you moaned, fingers moving to his curly locks as he once more lapped at your clit.

“Fuck, I knew you’d taste good,” he sighed. “But don’t let me keep you from answering the question, babe. Tell me.” He slid down, letting his tongue drag against your entrance. “What you.” His tongue slipped inside of you, running up and down your inner walls a few times before he pulled back. “Need.”

You gasped when he began lapping at your clit again, spreading your wetness against it as you tried to come up with a coherent sentence.

“I-I need… I need you to fuck me,” you gasped. He began to move his tongue faster while a finger pressed inside of you, thrusting in time with the kitten licks he was giving your clit. “I want you inside of me, Poe.”

He groaned and pulled back, licking his lips obscenely as he crawled up your body. His eyes were on yours the entire time, dark and focused. You bit your lip and squirmed beneath him, trying to push your hips up into his.

“Someday I’m gonna lick that pussy until you beg me to stop,” he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck. “I’ll make you cum over and over again, till you can’t even remember your own name. But… I don’t think this is the time or place for that.”

He gestured around you, and suddenly you were aware of just how exposed the two of you were. There were tents just a couple hundred yards away, scattered around the outskirts of the shipyard, and here you were half-naked on top of Poe’s x-wing.

While you were looking around, making sure no one was up and about, you heard a belt buckle being unclasped, and when you turned back you saw Poe stroking his cock while he looked down at your body. His eyes were locked onto your pussy while your legs spread wider for him, and your heart beat faster at the look in them. He was watching you like you were the only other person in the world.

As he kissed you, you felt the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and before you could brace yourself, he was pushing inside. You gasped, letting your head fall back against the ship with a metallic thunk.

He was thick, thicker than anything you’d felt before. But with how wet you were, how much you’d been imagining this, you didn’t feel any pain from the stretch. You let out a long, low moan, wrapping your arms around him and letting your nails dig into the material of his shirt.

“Fucking-“ Poe groaned, starting to roll his hips. “You feel so fucking incredible.”

You felt him brush against the spot inside of you that made your back arch and your toes curl, and you let out a yelp when he grabbed your hips and pulled your hips up to his.

“Shh!” Poe pressed his hand over your mouth, leaning down to murmur against your ear. “I know I’m good, baby, but you gotta be quiet. Can’t have the whole camp waking up, now can we?”

You whined and nodded, and once more his hips started moving. You bit down on your lip, trying to muffle your moans as he started moving again. But he was already starting out at a fast pace, not giving you any time to breathe before he was gritting his teeth and slamming into you.

Poe’s grunts were echoing in your ears, and his hands seemed to be everywhere all at once – cupping your cheek, squeezing your breasts, grabbing your hips. But when one of his fingers found its way to your clit, you gasped and moaned again. You were vaguely aware that you were crying out something that sounded like his name, but you were silenced when the hand that wasn’t rubbing your clit came down on your mouth.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” he grunted. “I’m just making you feel so good, aren’t I? Hm? My cock is gonna make this tight little pussy cum, isn’t it?”

You nodded deliriously; your brain was just a ball of white noise while he pounded into you. The cool morning air felt delicious against your heated, sweaty skin, and you let your eyes roll shut as you felt your pleasure starting to crest.

Your scream was muffled beneath Poe’s hand, and your legs wrapped around his waist tightly.

“Not yet, babygirl,” he huffed. “Not yet. Wait on me; I’m almost there.”

You groaned and let your hips rock up against his, not able to settle on where to put your hands –holding onto his shoulders, gripping his shirt, clawing at the metal beneath you. You finally settled on his hair, your fingers tangling into his curls, and he let out a groan when you tugged on his tresses.

“Fuck yeah, baby, keep pulling my hair like that,” he moaned. “Gets me so hot-“

Between the bucking of his hips and the sounds of his moans, you knew you wouldn’t last long. You pulled on his hair again, whining behind the hand he still had clamped over your mouth, and he nodded, looking right into your eyes.

“Ok, baby,” he panted. “Cum for me. Cum for me now, right fucking now-“

With a wail, you did just as he said. You clung to him as you felt your orgasm hit you like a freight train; stars exploded behind your eyelids, and the look of bliss, of absolute euphoria, on Poe’s face nearly sent you over the edge a second time.

You didn’t know how long the two of you laid there, tangled up in one another, but when he finally pulled away, his cum had dried on the inside of your thighs.

“That was perfect,” Poe whispered, pressing kisses to your cheek until you pulled away with a laugh. “You’re welcome.”

Your eyes widened and you shoved his chest, laughing incredulously.

“You’re not even going to let me bask in the afterglow, are you?” you chuckled, reaching down to fix your clothes. “Shoulda known.”

“Oh, c’mon. Was that or wasn’t that the best orgasm of your life?”

You rolled your eyes, pushing him off of you. With another laugh, he laid his side, still hovering over you. You smiled back at him, leaning in to kiss him again.

“So…” you said while you pulled away, “When do my lessons begin?”

Poe sighed and fixed his clothes, laying back down once his pants were firmly buckled around his waist.

“I was hoping you’d forget about that.”

“You’re good, Poe,” you smirked. “But not that good.”

“Damn.” He glanced over your face before sitting up. “How about tomorrow morning, Trigger Happy?”

You sat up, pecking his lips one more time.

“That can’t be my new nickname,” you said. “But yes, tomorrow does sound fantastic. Oh, by the way, who will be giving me my lessons?”

Poe smiled and pulled you against his side.

“The best in the entire Resistance.”

“…But Rey is busy with the new Jedi temple on Tatooine.”

You yelped when Poe punched you in the shoulder and tackled you, laying over you again and pressing his lips over your neck.

“It’s not Rey,” he growled, ignoring your laughter as he nibbled over your pulse point. “And you know it.”

“Ok, ok!” You pushed him back by his shoulders. “You are the best pilot in the Resistance, Mr. Poe Dameron.”

“Damn right I am. And don’t go forgetting it.”

[entitys-scribe]

h-hewwo can i get a 2007 myers and a gender neutral reader?? but like... soft and fluffy. thank u

       You’re lying if you say you’ve never just wanted to brush RZ Myers’ hair…          Chilly autumn nights welcomed the occasion of pumpkin scented candles and crackling fires, fluffy blankets and toasty cocos. All things better shared among two people but you were not fortunate enough to have such luxury. Not only had you been working diligently, but even if you weren’t, the one person you dared to think about sharing those pleasantries hadn’t been seen for a week. You weren’t too upset over it, in fact you were used to your phantom guest coming and going as he pleased but, you know, company never hurt anyone. Even if said company was a little more.. Dangerous than normal ones. You take what you get.     You stood from your desk chair, stretching up with a strained noise followed with a satisfying crackling and sigh. Having spent hours working hunched over your desk, you were happy to be finished with said work. At roughly 11 p.m, there was no time better to sink into your plush mattress and drift off into candy-coated dreams.      Slipping into your most comfortable sleepwear before pushing on your slippers and heading to the bathroom to do your nightly ritual. With the sound of the sink running and your gargling of the sharp minty mouthwash, you hadn’t heard the front door open and shut.

     After your nightly ritual was over with, you flicked the lights off, wandering down the stairs to do the same for all rooms. Heading for the living room, you glanced at the classic horror movie playing on the screen before turning it off along with the lamp beside the couch. Turning to head to the kitchen, you almost looked over the muddy footprints on your shiny tile floor that led to the sink. No way..      Creeping over to the sink as if whatever was inside would lunge at you, you were greeted with the familiar red-stained blade laid haphazardly across the plates already inside. Your heart jumped at the sight, a choked noise escaping. Following the trail of muddied prints with your eyes, you felt your expression sink as the dirtied prints stepped onto your carpet.. And onto the stairs. “No.”      Jumping from your previous frozen state, you ran past the kitchen and up the stairs, following the splatters of thick mud on your once clean carpet. “No, no, no.” You repeated, seeing the steps lead to your bedroom. Where your clean, not at all dirty bed was. 

     “No!” You burst into the room exaggeratedly, your arms held out in ‘Stop!’ fashion before slapping them onto your mouth, realizing yelling at this guest wasn’t a good idea. Michael’s head snapped to your direction, freezing in a hunched position over the bed, his dirtied hands gripping tighter onto the sheets. His usual navy suit was splattered and filthy, his boots thrown carelessly to the side of the room. His mask remained donned but you could see flecks of matted blonde hair peeking beneath and- is that a twig in his hair? He was really about to go to sleep like this.      Though you couldn’t see beneath the abyss of the mask’s eyes, you could feel the sharp glare that was staring directly at you. Shivering, you rubbed at your goosebumps anxiously and suddenly the wall was very interesting, “Sorry, sorry. I’m sorry, I just- You’re really, uhm..” Flicking your doe eyes back on him, “You’re filthy.” Coughing out slightly as if saying anything slightly negative about the man had physically ailed you. 

     Michael blew out a hearty huff behind the mask; obviously not wanting any part in this lecture; and continued to pull the covers of the bed up, leaning over to get in.      “Michael, please!” You jumped close to him in panic, placing your hand on his forearm in an effort to stop your pretty sheets from being stained with whatever this stray animal of a man decided to play in that night.      His head once again snapped toward you, and now that you were up closer, you could see his icy glare this time directed at your hand. You could feel the muscles tense beneath his sleeve, and with it, your impending doom.      Yanking your hand back to your chest, holding it almost protectively, “Okay! Okay, I’m sorry.” His glare remained, a slight tug to sheets in an almost ‘Can I sleep now?’ way. Your passive nature always came out on reflex around him, whether it was out of fear or his sheer dominant nature, but you wanted to stand your ground on this. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal, right? He shouldn’t mind that much, right?      “No, Michael, you- I can’t let you get into /my/ bed like /that/.” You stepped back in precaution. His grip tightened on the sheets, you noticed.

      “I’m sure you’re very tired from your.. Adventure.. so I won’t force you to take a shower tonight.” ‘Force’ was never the right word to use around the ragged blonde, if anyone would be forced to do anything, it would be you. 

     “But at least change out of that mess? Please?” Not daring to meet his gaze, you could still feel it piercing through you. Of course, Michael will always just do what he wants and if he wants to go to sleep covered in his filth then he was going to like the feral beast he was.

     Fidgeting slightly at the uncomfortable amount of empty response time, you didn’t have high hopes for your once pristine sheets to remain that way. You assumed that he was giving you a ‘You can’t be serious.’ look but refused to look up at him to confirm that or not.

     Suddenly, Michael dropped the sheets and stood to his full height, a fun reminder how much taller he was than you. Instinctively, you stepped back a little from him once again, the chill down your back evaporating once you saw his scarred hand reach for the zipper of his coveralls.      “Oh! Thank you so much! Let me get you something to change into.” You beamed at the rare cooperation before scurrying off to the closet. He must be in a good mood and, boy, were you going to milk that. 

     Quickly, you rummaged through the closet to find the oversized clothing you had specifically just for this circumstance. Just in time for Michael to step fully out of his coveralls, you turned and handed him the plush sweatpants and sweater with a dopey smile, red dust clouding your cheeks as you tried not to look at his athletic build in this state. Standing in just boxers and a black tee that clinged to his body, you kept your eyes up at his f- mask. The mask was still on, not that you should expect any different.     Reaching out, his large, calloused hands enveloped yours for a moment as he pulled the clothes to him, his attention now turning to it as he ran his fingers across the soft texture.

     “You get changed and comfy. I’ll take your clothes and put them in the wash, okay?” You asked, not that you expected a response, crouching over to pick up his caked coveralls in a pinch, holding it as far above the ground and away from you as you could and meandered downstairs.

     Heart feeling light and fuzzy as you stepped back upstairs, you hear the heavy creak of the bed shifting underneath Michael’s weight. With a smile still draped over your lips, you step back in the bedroom to be greeted with a very comfy looking Michael, sitting up in bed with the blanket over his lap where his hands met. Your smile grew wider at the sight, faltering slightly seeing the beaten up mask still sitting on his shoulders.      Glancing over at your dresser, you devised a plan.      “I really appreciate you listening to me, Michael.” You started, pink dusting your cheeks again as you felt his stare on you once again. “But could you do one more thing for me?” You bit the inside of your cheek. This was a dangerous game, you already got him to comply once, to ask him to do it again was a fat chance but yet you continued, grabbing the hairbrush from the dresser. 

     “If you could take off your mask, I could brush your hair out.” Smiling sheepishly at the man, cueing a signature loling of his head. Stepping over to the other side of the bed, you waited for a sign that you weren’t welcome only not to receive one.     “It’ll feel relaxing. I’ll be gentle, I promise.” Taking your seat next to him, you again were reminded of the height difference. Now that you were closer, the bedside lamp illuminating the space, you could once again see his eyes upon you. It wasn’t a glare or squint this time. He looked tired.

      After a moment or so, Michael shifted and slowly reached up to the edges of the practically ruined mask. Your heart thumped loudly in your ears, you hadn’t seen his face in a very long time and to see it now in such a soft light left your mouth dry with anticipation. Peeling off the silicon mask, his matted strands of honey coated hair falling free to his shoulders, draping over his face. You could make out his sharp jawline, a thick stubble coating over it. 

      Running his thumb over the mask before setting it onto the bedside stand and looking over at you, your heart stopped for a moment. His silvery blue eyes bore into you, small scars littering his cheeks, most definitely from debris. A scar leading across the bridge of his nose and deathly close to his right eye. 

      Yes, you’ve seen his face before on a very, /very/ rare occasion and knew what he looked like but to see it again such close proximity was a whole different experience. Pink once again danced on your cheeks as you were sure you were staring for too long, glancing away from him and clearing your throat. “Alright so just..” You started, patting your lap, “Lay your head here and get comfy.”       After a moment, as usual, he shifted onto his back, his feet dangling over the side of the bed, laying his head on your lap, not before you lift his hair up and away.      His eyes once again stared through you as you picked out little things from his hair, and, yes, that was a twig. Parting it in half, you starting to brush out the knots starting from the bottom. “Let me know if it I tug too hard at any moment.” You offered a small smile down at him, earning a very slight nod.      You both stayed like that for a long time, his hair was much more matted than you had expected and as you finished up on one part, you glanced at his face to see he had closed his eyes.

     Had he fallen asleep? Either way, to have him willingly close his eyes and be this vulnerable to you almost made you tear up. Fighting back the bubbling giggles as to not wake him up as you put your focus on the second part, repeating the process you had for the last one happily.

[vide0-nasties]

PROMPT: *whispers reverently* that cut scene from moon. eustacia washing julian's hair. I need it

2.5k of deleted hair washing scene, just 4 u cathleen! :***

post-book viii: strength, deleted scene from my fic ‘whatever a moon has always meant’ Julian/MC sfw

Julianwatched Eustacia wash her hair out, hunched over the sink, and he'dwatched her bottomlessly black eyes track to him. She had asked,“When was the last time someone else washed your hair for you?”

Hecouldn't remember.

Now,he sits in the chair she turned around for him at her rickety kitchentable, stripped to the waist. He's exhausted, and wired, with onelittle triumph under his belt in the form of a scarab-shaped key, andeven that is outweighed one-hundred-to-one with questions.

"Canyou comfortably tip your head back for me?" she asks from behindhim, and her rolling dark brogue floods his spine and empties histhoughts of everything except the facts that the hair prickling onhis arms and neck is freezing, and the sudden surge of blood underhis skin makes him feel like a furnace. That voice,deep-deep-deep—he could imagine a trillion things for her to say,and he'd not find a single one of them unattractive.

Thereis one win: he doesn't shiver when she sets the basins down—a mutedsound of copper against wood. He lolls his head back, over the backof the chair, and peers at her. "I could comfortably bend overbackwards for you. Would you like me to try?"

She'sscrubbed pink, cleaner, barer, and more gaunt than he's seen her.Without her makeup, she looks very familiar—all nose, all bone, allbruise-y bags sitting heavy under her eyes. She looks like him. Shelooks exhausted. With two fingers to the crown of his head, she rollshim back up some, but it makes him no less pleased that he caught herlooking at his throat, and that he caught her swallowing.

Oh,he's positively incandescent.

Shehasn't come back into view, so he looks at what he can. Namely, theceiling. It's an inverted and dried botanical garden, strung up onfishing lines. Mesh sacks of potpourri, dried wedding bouquets andclutches of roses, wildflower crowns of all sizes. Every petal adried and muted version of its quick self, brittle and faintlyfragrant.

He'salmost shocked that he'd never noticed, but he didn't—or wasn'tallowed to--spend much time up here. Any? Did he ever come upstairs?Did he ever come—that's enough, and, anyway, the ceiling ismuch taller in only that spot, where the roof peaks into a dormer.His head wouldn't brush against them the way it does in most of theseold houses.

"Huh,"he wonders, staring at all the arrangements. Part of him wants to seehow easily they could crumble under his touch, if they'd continue towither. Another, bastard part of him wants to ask if Asra gatheredthis dead garden for her—no-no, enough of that, the horse is dead.

Eustaciaand Asra are close—a jab at him would leave a bruise on her. She'smuch softer than she looks, and, yet, she isn't. The claws and fangsaren't for show, he's quickly learning, though he's really never hadno doubts.

Hejust wants to—he wants to ask her, just get it over with,get it out of his system—have you—did you ever—when was thefirst time you—when was the last time you—

Julianhas had all number of run-ins with unsavory characters: muggers,pick-pockets, people out looking for a specific and cruel type of'fun,' pirates, and warlords turned nobility, àla the Count. He's met soldiers of fortune, bandits, and murderers.

Hehas never met anyone like Eustacia Barbary. And he thinks he wouldfear her, were her feet not planted firmly in his corner, were herclaws and fangs not primed for use in his defense.

Evenbleeding out from the blood eel's bite, she had turned the tables onhim and boxed him up against the wall, shielding him from the guardswith her back. Constantly, she makes the ground shift under his feet,and it's exhilarating to try keeping up. Being defended, being deemedworthy of defending, is foreign territory.

Buta grape knows a grape. Eustacia is wonderfully and fearfully made,her claws are cursed unbreakable, her fangs are capped in gold, andshe lives under a canopy of love-soaked flowers. Julian isunforgivably wild about her.

Avery tiny and very loud part of him rises up, pushing the questionaway, wanting the long, pale hand of the topsy-turvy, static garden'skeeper to feed him the fragile petals, to see how many he could takebefore the perfume made him sick.

She begins tofingercomb his hair, humming thoughtfully under her breath as hernails scritch over his scalp. “Our hair is similar,” she says,twirling a nail through a formative curl at the nape of his neck.“When I've started growing out mine, that is. Come wintertime, Ihave enough to cover my ears. It's the picture of seaweed.”

“I'd like tosee that,” he tells her, looking at the stubble that darkens thesides and back of her skull, almost long enough to call actual hairnow, due for a shave. The hair on the top of her hair is still damp,but beginning to dry, letting the waves begin to come through.

She gives him aweary smile under wearier eyes, nodding her head. “I'd like you tosee it,” she sighs, her finger in his curl slowing to somethingthoughtful. They both know where they each stand—they both know hemight not see another winter.

“Eustacia,I...” He trails off, frowning and flattening his lips into ablanched line. What can he say? There is no comfort that isn't acradling fabrication, a lie. No comfort for her when it comes to him,anyway. He has her, and she'sgiven of herself freely. What does he have to offer in return? Sofar, whiplash volleys of thrill, endangerment, and unhappiness.

“Tellme if this is too hot or cold,” she says, saving him from hisrunaway mouth.

Thewater she pours on his hair from her cupped hands is a touch too hot,searing his scalp, but he melts into it. It's been days since he'shad a proper scrub, and he's always preferred his water somewhatscalding. He groans, just a little, and feels the muscles in hislower back release a fraction.

Oncehis hair is soaked through—water rolling over his neck andforehead, dripping over his ears, a few scattered droplets cooling onhis shoulders—she begins lathering up a shampoo bar between herhands. The smell is wonderful—lavender, rosemary, and aloe, pepperyand clean—and he goes slacker by degrees, legs stretching out, armsloose with his hands in his lap. His jaw unclenches, and his browgoes smooth as she works over his scalp, nails and fingers andhatchmark-scarred palms.

Ifhe had any decency, he would be embarrassed; he's actually gruntingand moaning—little noises, more like sighs with some intonation—butthe unevolved part of his brain is in revelry, and everything is calmand quiet.

“Doesit actually feel that good,” she begins, “or are you bullshittinglike the girls in the carnal shows?”

Oh-ho-ho?

Asmirk cracks over his mouth. “And what do youknow about carnal shows?” he returns in a purr, dripping teasingsarcasm that's blurred around the edges.

“Themore you pay, the worse they are,” she drones. He barks a laughthat resounds in the air around them, and it seems she can't help butbark in return. That's one of the things he enjoys about her, onethat he hopes is something she feels in return—that he finds herlaughter infectious.

Shebegins to rinse his hair, and all he wants to do is bury his faceagainst her neck with his arms wrapped around her waist, to laughagainst her, and feel her laugh ring through his body.

Asit is, she simply scrunches some excess water from his hair into thesoapy basin, and rubs some oil through the ends of his hair. The oilsmells of nothing, but he knows he will close his eyes when it fallsin his face, and he will imagine that he can smell her—apples,petrichor, orchard-after-storm.

Somethingbumps against his lower lip, and he remembers the bottle glass shewears on a chain around her neck. Without much thought—any thought,really, would've stopped him in his tracks—he takes it between histeeth and glances up at her.

Shehas stopped dead, staring down at him with something he might callconfusion, a hand splayed on her chest. She frowns, her thick, sharpbrows knotted together, but there is worry in her eyes. The glassingscar around the right one warps the skin, pulling it into littlelines. Concern, maybe. Or trepidation. Her concern and her worry havea more jagged feeling, a broken glass quality.

Helets the moment linger, he lets her figure herself out, because herface twists, and her hands clench, and her lips peel away from herteeth when she is coddled, so he has stopped coddling, tried to stop.

Heclicks his teeth against the bottle glass. He waits for her.

Whenthe hand over her heart loosens, comes away from the bare skin overher camisole, closing in a loose fist, she asks, “Julian, can Ikiss you right now?”

Shealways asks, he always tells her she doesn't have to ask, and healways say yes anyway. “You know you can just kiss me. You don'thave to ask permission, or go looking for my chaperone,” he teases,dropping the pendant and reaching for her hands, slowly drawing themcloser, laying them on his shoulders. There is no demand, noinstruction, only suggestion. She is free to do as she pleases, andalways has been.

Hervoice and eyes go a little flinty, but not at him, palms sliding tohis chest, “Haven't enough people taken from you without asking?”

And,there she goes, branding her name into him without meaning to, a markhe would love to wear, even when her intentions are forhim, and not herself.

Itmakes him think of the kiss that will last forever, the gift she gavehim after he'd tried to end things on the docks. A napkin stolen fromsomeone's pocket during dinner at the Raven, a hole bitten into herown cheek, the glimmer of red on her lips and teeth, and a stain onthe linen that would never wash out.

Akiss that will last forever, one that lives in the breastpocket ofhis jacket, an acknowledgment that he is not alone, not anymore.

“Wouldyou please kiss me, Eustacia?”

That'sall it takes. He forgets that her wants are simple—the ones sheshows him, anyway. That anything hewants is only a question away. That she gives easily and freely, butshe takes with care.

Herhands slide up the column of his throat, to the sides of his neck.Her grip is no feather-light touch. It's firm and grounding, and notclose enough to a choke that might get him going. Weight to remindhim she is there, her thumbs coming up to sit over his sideburns.

Shebends at the hips to close the distance between their mouths, and hesits up straighter to bring their bodies closer together.

And,it's just like the world's gone quiet, isn't it?

Theplace where his brain used to be is a big, fat question mark, beddeddown in cotton. The whole of Vesuvia blurs outside of the feeling ofEustacia's lips, her fanged canines sometimes catching his lip andstinging. His mark is gone, Count Lucio is gone, the murder is gone,and the gallows are gone.

Asra,Countess Nadia, Valdemar, the palace—all gone. Gone, gone, gone.

Thereis Julian—Ilya—some overgrown, gangly boy from Nevivon, who stillfeels the saltflats dust on his skin when he is faraway in his head,and Eustacia. Whatever she is—soldier, murderer, monster, whateverelse she is and isn't—she has bruises that ache for him, littlesoft spots she likes to prod. He doesn't know her, or her history,but she's let him see her vulnerable, and she's let him see into herthoughts, and she's let him see into her home.

Shetreasures beauty, and poetry, and she lives in a home with anupside-down garden. She makes up dirty limericks, and poses riddles,and snaps her teeth together when she's pleased.

Shecan't abide people being lonely and alone. She can't abide it inalmost anyone.

Shehas decided she will be there when he is ready to stop being lonelyand alone.

Hebreathes into the empty spaces she leaves, pressing forward, alwaysgreedy for more, always desperate to please. He arches his back, healmost stands, he wants to give of himself, return affection foraffection for affection, to let her know he can and will and wants togive, as well.

Hewants to be good, fucking hell,he wants to be good for her.

Butshe keeps him sitting, keeps him prone and unmoving, slowing thepace, pulling back when he gets to eager. It borders almost onchaste. There is a bigger feeling backing this maneuver, this is notthe lingering goodnight kiss at Mazelinka's, or the recklesswe-could-get-caught kiss in the repurposed tea house.

Whenshe pulls back, he tries to follow, and she laughs. Very quiet, verypleased, her lips shining and pink(er). For a fraction of a second,he fears, as always, she will wipe his kiss away, that she will callthis whole thing off—even when that had been the goal he thought hewanted to chase.

Withoutany spare words, she straightens up and begins running her handsthrough her short, thick crop of hair. Pass after pass, until Julianrealizes what she's doing.

Herhair dries into thick waves, waves like octopus tentacles, and itfalls over the side of her skull, over her eyes, looking for all theworld like the frayed black ribbons on old mourning gowns.

Holdingup her hand—pink now, too, from whatever magic that had been—ingesture at his own hair, she, again, asks, “Your turn, heartsweet?”

“Oh,yes, please,” he tries to laugh, but it might've come out a slur.

Carefully,she settles in his lap, and he loops his arms around her hips.Wherever he sees skin is a place he desperately wants to touch. Hewants to get to know every tattoo, freckle, dapple, and scar of hersvery personally, wants to know them by name and date and cause. Hesettles for proximity, her hands in his hair, her weight on his legs,her mouth against his.

Theremight not be time for it in the future, there might be the longest,short walk he's ever taken, deserved or not, but he thinks of—hopesfor a future where he can dothese things, and a thousand others.

Forthe first time in a very long time, he hopes for a future, and itglimmers gold when he closes his eyes.

[mona-stay]

New Girl At Pop’s

Prompt/request - can you make the reader like miss Grundy and is running away from an abusive ex fp Jones helps her when ex comes looking for her.

Pairing - fp Jones x reader Warnings - swearing, talk of domestic violence (towards reader) Story -

Welcome to Riverdale!

You had mixed feelings reading the sign, happy with a little nerves. The town you chose with a pin on a map was finally in front of you ready for you to begin a fresh new start. Getting away from the boyfriend who used to abuse you. With deep breath you drove over sweet water bridge into the heart of the town.

The small town looked perfect, you found a house to rent not far from the local dinner. Pops had a help wanted sign in the window smiling you went inside to see if the job was still going. Inside the place seamed full, 6 kids in one large corner booth all looked like members of the local school sports team, another with 5 girls all giving there undivided attention to the red head you could only see the back of, another group of kids 2 boys and 2 girls. A few truck drivers and construction workers at the counter and a few other residents filling a few remaining Booths. Slowly walking to the counter you felt dozens of eyes fall on you making you feel nervous and anxious. “I’ll be right with you now, just a little under staffed today” the dinner owner chuckled walking past you with a milkshakes walking over to a booth of girls. “What can I get you dear?” He asked passing you again. “I was hoping maybe I could get a job I saw your poster” you say pointing to the window.

The owner looked at you with a look of relief “can you start now trial run as such” he asked you agreed tying your hair up, grabbing a pinny. You took to the job fairly quick, making coffees understanding the orders how to use the till. You had been happy, fun and cheery with the customers. After an hour the rush died down, pop came over to you impressed with the work and how you handled the rush. “the job is yours if you want it” he said holding out his hand, you took it smiling back at your new boss.

You had settled into Riverdale easy and after a fast week, you feel happy and comfortable. Work was great pop had given you the evening and night shifts as Hermione Lodge had left to work for Fred Andrews, not that you minded you was always a night owl, and it was always quite of a night the odd truck driver or night shift worker the hardest part was how boring it would get. Tonight the was only one boy who sat in the dinner until late most nights, the raven-haired boy who wore a gray crown shaped beanie sat on his laptop typing away. You walked over with two cups of coffee sitting opposite him.

He closed over his laptop looking at you confused, “you’ve had that cup of over half n hour I thought you’d like a fresh one on me of course” you smile bored hoping to start a conversation with the boy. “thanks” he mumbled taking the cup “your welcome but is it okay if I sit?” . “yeah sure” he said uneasy “I’m jughead” he smiled at you, you being to laugh quickly apologising for the giggle. “I’m sorry but jughead is not a name I’ve ever heard before” you say. “it’s a nickname and less embarrassing then my real name” you both laughed more. “what’s your name?” He asked, “y/n….. Hale” you almost told him you real name but changed your last name hiding from your past. For the next hour you both drank coffee and jug filled you in on the who is who at Riverdale, everyone from the blossoms to the cooper’s.

Seeing a van pull up outside jughead packed up his laptop saying thank you again for the free coffee and goodbye. Something puzzled you about the way he left but you didn’t question it too much. A few nights later you and jughead had sat for a while once everyone had left and like the first night his attitude changed and left when a van pulled up. From behind the counter you watch the two speak and your friend walk off. A few minutes later another man walked in, he was handsome with deep brown eyes light stubble and thick brown hair. You bite your lip looking at him he was roughly 10 years older but he was gorgeous.

He walked in giving you a smirk rising his eyebrows walking to a booth as he says “hey” your heart begins to race at the velvet-ness of his voice. Blinking fast and lightly shaking your head when you realise you was stirring at him, you grabbed a fresh pot walking to his table “coffee?” you say placing a cup on the table. The man chuckled “yes, unless pops has started selling anything stronger" you both laughed “I think I need something stronger the coffee just ain’t doing it” you say rubbing your eyes tired. He looked at your more serious “is Hermione Lodge in today?” He asked, you shook your head “no according to the boss” you say pointing to the kitchen even though the was no body in there “she got a new job” you finished, the man finished his coffee fast and held out his hand “fp Jones” he said as you took it “y/n” you giggled as he shook your hand. Fp quickly left you smiling as you hummed and sang with the radio the rest of your shift.

For the rest of the week and most of the next you saw fp around town but never had a change to talk to him, but always got a smile or a wink from him. Both of them made your cheeks blush red, you felt like an idiot letting him make u a bumbling mess, then waving at him like a child. He’d give you that eyebrow raise that made your knees weak lifting his and hand up. You wanted to ask jughead who he was but something about the way they interacted with each other put you off so instead you just chatted with him or read some of his manuscript giving your feedback until he had to leave.

Jug had been gone an hour and boredom was setting in you had begun to make a castle out of paper cups when the bell of the door rang making you jump up. To your delight it was fp Jones, he came swaggering in sitting at the counter by you, Your poured him a coffee and began chatting, “what’s the Southside serpents?” you say pointing to his leather jacket. Fp chuckles “it’s a gang, we’re a biker gang we hang out on the south side of Riverdale have a bad rep for dealing drug and causing trouble” he stirred you in the eyes waiting for a response but to his surprise it wasn’t the one he expected. “a biker gang cool what bikes I’ve always been a Harley fan” you say full of enthusiasm. For the rest of the night you talked about his gang and little about yourself without revealing too much about yourself mainly small thing like where you had grew up and that your father had once owned a bike when you was little. You had giggled and lightly flirted with the gang leader, it was the happiest you had felt in a long time and you wasn’t doing nothing special but talk over coffee. It’s was almost 5am when fp went to go, just before leaving you saying “i mite have to show you the gang and their motorcycles one day” again he smiled walking out with his hands in his pockets, leaving you in a bubble of happiness as you cleaned up getting ready for your shift to finish in an hour.

The next day you woke happy, getting ready doing your make-up and hair up, you waltzed around in a world of your own thinking about fp, and the way you had gotten on so well the night before, talking and laughing was so easy with him. You started to like everything about him fast his amazing good looks, the comfort you felt with him and the heavenly tone of his voice. You could hear it in your mind waking to work, you replayed the conversation you’d had, when an all to fimilar yet unwanted voice filled your mind. you heard the voice again making you spin on your heels, it wasn’t in your mind but behind you the voice of the ex boyfriend Caleb the one you had ran from appeared in front of you.

You was paralysed and terrified he’d found you so quickly. He walked over to you, you struggled to read his expression. “y/n”,  I’ve been looking for you" his tone was menacing making your heart race in fear. You didn’t answer but looked around to see if anyone was watching you, you didn’t anyone in the street other then Caleb “how did you find me” you ask" you tried to sound confident but the tremble in your voice showed your true fear making him smile. “you left the pin in the map you stupid girl” he chuckled you was slowly walking backwards trying to keep your distance but each step you took, Caleb moved one step forward. It was getting harder to control your breathing, your mind raced for something to say “I’m here to take you home ” he said, now his voice more deeper. You shook your head no not wanting to go with him. “don’t shake you head at me bitch your coming” he said grabbing your arm

“hey y/n” you heard, feeling relief you saw jug and Archie come round the corner walking towards you. You faked a nervous smile at them, “I’m not going anywhere with you Caleb, just leave” you said low pulling your arm out of his grip feeling better that the two boys was there. “you walking to work” jug asked “yeah” you shouted going over to them “don’t you dare walk away from me y/n Caleb said in a hushed voice, you gulped not looking at him walking over to your friends heading for pops with your heart pounding inside your chest. For the rest of the day you head was scrambled you had mixed up orders, gave out the wrong change on your break you went outside to clear your head sitting on the steps at the back of the dinner.

Jughead followed you out “what’s you with you today” he asked trying to sound happy and comforting. “nothing” you lied “I must have left my brain in bed today” you laugh but he saw right though the lie. “I’d believe that if I hadn’t seen you with that guy earlier” he said sitting on the step next to you. You let out a long sighing breath you didn’t want to tell your past but you didn’t want to lie to your friend either. “the guy you saw me with today was my ex boyfriend” you say slow rubbing your face and pinching the bridge of your nose thinking of how much to tell him. “I didn’t have very good taste in men when I was dating him and our relationship was toxic I left him and moved here” you said wanting to keep the worst details out. Jughead eyeballed you knowing you wasn’t telling him the truth “okay it was worse then toxic, the last time I saw Caleb was when he was getting pushed into a police car covered in my blood and I was taking to the hospital” you say almost crying at the memory, jug was about to ask you more questions but Archie was calling him walking round trying to find him. Jug and Archie left and you went back into work, on your way in you saw jug and fp talking. You had the most paranoid feeling when fp looked at you like they was talking about you.

After a few minutes fp Jones walked in alone sitting at the counter, the same place he had last night. You got his coffee and took an order from another woman. Jug wasn’t the only one who had noticed how off you had been, pop your boss came over telling you to have the rest of the night off “you have been working long hours and the graveyard hours too, go have a rest come back tomorrow when you feel refreshed” he said with a smile. You sadly agreed grabbing your coat. You didn’t want to go home thinking Caleb mite be waiting for you again. You was thinking about just grabbing a drink and something to eat staying at pops a little longer but you knew you’d have to go home sooner or later leaving work thinking a slow walk might put your worries to bed.

FP had over heard pop sent you and after the conversation he had with his son moments before, Jughead and Archie telling him to keep an eye on their friend because of an ex who she seams scared or really upset about. Fp decided y/n needed to let her hair down and hoped to ask her out. He had one big mouthful of his coffee leaving half on the counter. and ran after the [y/h/c] girl “hey y/n” wait up" Your turned watching him jog down the steps of the diner towards you. “Hiya fp, what’s wrong” you asked confused to why he ran after you “did I give you the wrong coffee too” you sigh thinking of how terrible your day had been so far. “What, oh no, I wanted to see if you wanted to see the bar and bikes we was talking about” he asked. Fp looked nervous he lifted his arm running his hand through his hair. You could also swear you saw a pinkish tint to his cheeks. You smiled at him not seeing him like this he was always so confident. “I can drive you home too so you not coming back from the Southside on your own” he said trying to convince you to go with him. “yes fp. I’ll Come see you gangs hangout” you giggled light shaking your head. You both walked over to his truck as he held the door open for you you blushed more not used to small sweet things like that “Erm thanks” you mumbled. 

 The drive to the Whyte Wyrm wasn’t to long, you both made simple chit-chat until you arrived at the bar. Although it was dark you could see the shine from the chrome on the bikes. The rock and roll music blurred though the walls, fp held the door waiting for you to walk in “drink first bikes later” he smiled walking behind you. You sat by the bar chatting and laughing, you had completely forgotten about any worries you had though out the day, until fp brought it up.

 “so jughead tells me your worried about some mean looking guy, well red told me about the guy” fp said looking you in the eyes. You frown at him “you and jug what are you friends or something?” you ask changing the subject. For chuckled “you don’t know jughead is my son” he said. You looked at him shocked almost spitting out your drink “what he’s your boy, I thought he didn’t have” you stopped yourself before finishing. You knew jughead lived at the drive in and had offered him a room if he ever wanted it but jug refused saying he liked the drive in. You didn’t know he had a father in town. “so why doesn’t he live with you?” you asked for unsure if it was the right thing to say. “Well after I got sacked me and the bottle became very good friends, him mom left with our daughter and jughead, we’ll let’s say my trailer isn’t where he wants to live I’m not proud of the father I am but I am proud of the man he’s becoming” for said low. You could see him fighting back the tears highlighting his eyes under the dull light of the pub. “so what if I help you, we can fix up your home I’ll help you clean it, I can have a word with jug when we’re done see if we can’t get him back with you!” you say joyfully. Fp nodded smirking, FP liked y/n a lot she wasn’t just one of the most beautiful girl he’d seen bit she was smart funny and something about her made him feel a way he hadn’t in years. He watched as she finished her drink smiling at him can we please go and see the bikes now she asked. He couldn’t help but smile at her, she was so excited and giddy in her seat he couldn’t say no. They grabbed there drinks walking outside. Y/n went to a Harley Davidson first “my granddads was like this but an older model” you shouted to him admiring the bike and its body work. 

“so this guy the boys had been taking about” he asked. You frown knowing you can’t get out of it, “the is one question know one has really asked me yet” you start fp looked confused trying to think of what it could be. “why did I move to Riverdale?” fp stepped forward “why?” He said softly, you wished you didn’t have to tell him this but you didn’t want to lie to him part of you liked him a lot and wanted him to know “my ex boyfriend was a prick and hurt me it was a little to start with putting me down, calling me degrading names. Then one night he was drunk and smacked me” you looked at him to see his face, it was full of concern and symphony. He didn’t speak so you carried on “the next day he was full of sorry and got me a necklace as a way of saying he’ll never do it again but he did over and over until one night he hit me and I didn’t back away I took it and mocked him saying is that all” the concern was now worry in fps eyes he reached out and grabbed you hand squeezing it gently giving you a small smile “that’s when he hit me again and again it was a man outside walking his dog who heard the scream and bangs he called the police and stopped Caleb before he could kill me, the next day I took a pin, closed my eyes and stabbed a map getting in the car and not looking back” when you finished the was small tears running down you cheek. Fp took his other hand using his thumb to wipe them away. “I’m not gonna let him touch you y/n, your gonna be safe here I’ll make sure” you hugged him tight wishing he meant it and you could stay and be safe here. You both went back into the bar getting more drinks FP drove you home an hour later, when you pulled up to your house fp walked you to the door, laughing "you don't have to walk me, I could have gotten too the door on my own" he just smiled as you unlock the door "I told you I'd make sure you was safe, don't want people saying you was with me if something happens to you" he joked. "and there was me thinking you was sticking around for a goodnight kiss" you smirked lingering at the door way. Fps eyes widened with your words he started erming and aring not able to answer. When you kissed him, he instantly returned your kiss holding your hips pulling you closer to him. After a few seconds you both broke away breathless he still kept you held close for a minute, before kissing the top of your head saying goodnight you went to bed a happy giddy mess as you laid thinking of fp. 

 The next day was great you was back to yourself, the kiss with fp being the only thing on your mind all day. You looked at your phone all day to see of he would call or text like he'd said. The rush ended and the time ticked by its was around 11pm when the door bell went without looking you knew it was jughead no one else came to pops at that time without a car. "be with you now juggie tell me just finish this text, oh why didn't you tell me fp was your father?" you said with your back to the door and dinner. Texting with one hand making milkshakes with the other. You smiled pressing send asking fp to come over when the Wyrm had closed. Jughead hadn't answered you puzzled you turned to Caleb stood there and not your beanie hatted friend. Your legs begin to shake and you dropped your phone seeing it slide under the counter. "W.. What do you want "you stutter out. He laughed at how scared you looked," I told you yesterday, I'm here to take you home even if I have to drag you there " he sounded angry but didn't raise his voice. This terrified you more, he was at his worst when he was calm, more unpredictable. Trying to match his calmness you slowly and clearly spoke" Caleb it's over I'm staying here I have a home and a job now" he laughed at you, "A job you think making coffee and wiping tables is a job, you job is to at OUR home looking after me" he ordered. you looked him in the eye "no I'm not" you say boldly. He walked around the counter towards you "you don't tell me NO or did your forget why you went to the hospital" he said this time a lot angrier then he was before, you took the milkshake throwing it pushing past at him trying to run towards the door. Caleb grabbed your arm smacking your face hard making you fall down onto the hard floor hitting your head, you was dizzy and scared. Caleb grabbed you shirt lifting you of the floor as you begged him to stop "please don't do this" you cried as he balled his fingers into a fist, pulling his arm back "bad girls need to be shown what happens when they say no!" you closed your eyes tensing up waiting for his punch to hit your face. 

Next thing happened so fast, you heard the bell ding and felt Caleb's grip release then two load bangs, when you opened your eyes Caleb was on the floor knocked out and fp Jones stood in front of you holding a crowbar. He dropped it and held out his arms you ran right into them shaking uncontrollably but also trying to say thank you. Fp held you rubbing your back trying to stop you crying. After 20 minutes you was calm fp had gotten you a coffee and sat you down, sheriff Keller came after fp called handcuffing Caleb asking you what had happened. After explaining your past and what had happened tonight the sheriff told you he would make sure that Caleb wouldn't be released for a long time. You thanked him and watched as the now conscious Caleb has being driven away. Fp Jones came behind you hugging you, jumping at first you laughed when he whispered "I told you I'd always protect you" you turn kissing his check gently "and I'll always be grateful I don't know how to thank you" you say with full honesty and seriousness. He looked at you lifting an eyebrow "well you can start by letting me take you one night for a real date" he said softly pushing your hair you smiled nodding without saying anything you couldn't the was no words. After locking up on orders of your boss you and fp left heading for his truck. Looking at fp under the pink light you knew the was a reason you came to Riverdale and fp Jones could well be a big part of it.

tags 

@brooke-supernatural16

@aliceswonderlandblog

[aloysiavirgata]

Madeleine

Title: Madeleine

Rating: PG

Timeline: Home Again

Category: MSR

Summary:For the anon who asked: Since you mentioned it, Drabble of Mulder finding Scully's Darkness Falls jacket while they are in an established relationship?

***

"And so it is with our own past. It is a labour in vain to attempt to recapture it: all the efforts of our intellect must prove futile. The past is hidden somewhere outside the realm, beyond the reach of intellect, in some material object (in the sensation which that material object will give us) which we do not suspect. And as for that object, it depends on chance whether we come upon it or not before we ourselves must die."

Marcel Proust, Remembrance of Things Past

***

They've been going through the storage room for hours, marveling at the sheer volume of items her mother had held onto. Grandmother Scully’s old dining room set (“Missy threw up pumpkin pie all over it in front of Bill’s first girlfriend”), boxes of trophies, prom pictures bright with taffeta and blue eyeshadow.

There are so many objects, so many minor artifacts that tell the story of a life. The rooms smells musty with cardboard and old paper, the still air making her think of bubbles in amber. She wishes her father’s bay rum aftershave were bottled somewhere, or her mother’s scent; a comforting mix of Jergen’s cherry-almond lotion and wood polish. There are old cookbooks, but the crumbling pages are far removed from warm trays of pecan tassies and Yankee pot roast. Scully dusts off a framed family portrait, she and her siblings smiling with their bowl cuts and polyester. She studies herself, chin tipped up, ribbon streamer barrettes in her hair. “Yikes,” she says. “Maggie loved the double-knit.”

Mulder peers over her shoulder, his presence a comfort in this bittersweet place. “Groovy turtleneck for Bill. And is that Holly Hobbie on Melissa?”

She returns the picture to the box of sports pennants and yearbooks. “What am I going to do with all of this?” She feels overwhelmed by this aftermath, the endless decisions that have poured in through the Maggie-shaped hole in the world.

Mulder stacks boxes of yellowing paperbacks by the entrance.“We’ll call movers to take it to the Goodwill, Scully. Don’t let yourself get stressed about this.”

Weary, she sinks into a horsehair sofa she remembers playing on as a kid. She and Charlie had saddled the arched back with towels and declared it a camel. She looks up at Mulder for guidance, trying to recall what he had done in her place.

He shrugs. “Keep the pictures, donate the rest. I'm guessing you don't want boxes of old teeth, or your science fair trophies. You nerd.”

“Hey, I did some groundbreaking research on the maze solving abilities of obese hamsters.”

“I hope you published.”

She tightens her ponytail, resolute. “I should at least weed out the trash before I call the Goodwill. Here, what's that big box behind the breakfront?”

Mulder clambers over a coffee table. “DANA SKI CLOTHES,” he calls in a deep voice. “She wrote it all in caps, so I want to convey appropriate gravitas.”

Ski clothes? She hasn't been skiing since-

“Ohhhh,” she groans. “That can definitely go.”

“Well now I'm curious,” Mulder says, with his usual contrariness.

Scully hears tape ripping from cardboard.

“Oh, wow. Scully, somewhere in Williamsburg is a hipster just waiting for this sweet loot.” He removes a pair of purple snow pants with overall straps and elastic ankles. “You sure this isn't the bottom half of a Barney costume?”

She throws a half-deflated football at him. “You know, I seem to recall a few fashion gaffes of yours in the early 90’s too, pal.”

“Mine were never so puffy. And since when do you ski, anyway?”

“I don't,” she demurs. “That's why it's all in a box.”

Mulder pulls on the bright pink goggles and grins at her. “Rose colored glasses.”

“They're all yours, Pollyanna.”

He rummages further, removing a stack of garish sweaters fit for Bill Cosby. “Pink ski goggles, pink and green gloves, argyle scarf... Scully, this is all very coordinated. You bought this special. Who took you skiing?”

She sighs. “Jack Willis.”

Mulder looks up, surprised. “Really?”

A shrug. “Things were serious for a bit, I guess.” She remembers that weekend now, clumsy on her skis while Jack engaged in shameless frottage as he showed her how to balance. Not unlike Mulder and his hips before hands nonsense, really. Scully smiles to herself.

Mulder tries to jam his hands into the gloves, but there's not a chance. He opts for the green hat instead. “Hey, I remember this jacket. You wore it on a case in the woods I think, right? The Mothman thing?”

She tries to remember, but is distracted by Mulder in her ridiculous pompom hat and goggles. “I think I did. It was….hmm. Not the Mothman. It was those, uh, the glowy bugs? The cocoon things?”

Mulder brightens. “That's the one! That was wild.”

Wild, sure. Another case, another hospital stay. She catches the jacket when Mulder tosses it. It smells stale, and the cuffs are dirty. She remembers herself in those lonely woods now, the disappearing light and the collective fear that grew in the dark. She was young and untried but Mulder was there and, even then, something in his presence conveyed comfort. She remembers awaking in bandages, her skin burned from strange enzymes, but feeling safe nonetheless. Alive, in her youth, equalled safe. She went into the woods with him back then, time and again into the waiting mouths of fairy-tale forests. She longs for the confidence of her younger self, the boldness that comes before life has yet to deal a truly terrible blow.  Scully sniffs the jacket again and imagines that she can smell pine and the gas for the generator.

“Put it on,” he says. “Throwback Thursday.”

“It's Saturday,” she says, reluctant. She feels like a snake trying to wriggle back into a shed skin.

Mulder straddles a dining chair, pouting.

“Fine,” she says, tugging the vibrant, oversized thing on over her gray hoodie. “These colors are absolutely jarring. Some kind of pre-millennial Bacchanal of fashion, I guess.”

Mulder is smiling.

“What?” she asks suspiciously. Her eyes narrow.

“Nothing, it's cute. You just need some bangs now and it would be like no time has passed.” His voice is wistful.

Scully stands to zip the coat. It sags off of her shoulders, the drawstring bunching up large wads of fabric. “Ugh, I was so...amorphous then.” She remembers her round face with that awful haircut, her shapeless flannels and mom jeans. She wishes someone had told her what she looked like.

“You were voluptuous. I remember having that distinct thought.” He mimes an hourglass figure in the air.

She rolls her eyes, flopping back on the couch. The coat makes a rustling sound. “You just wanted to get laaaaid.”

“Well, yes. But by you, specifically.”

She is surprised. “No you didn't. Did you? Then?”

Mulder shrugs, pushing the goggles up his forehead. “You came into my hotel room that first night. I remembered what was under all your tapestry vests and rectangular suits.”

“Perv.”

“Pretty much.” Mulder puts the clothing back into the box. “You wanna keep this and go skiing sometime? I'd hate to live in Willis’s shadow.”

Scully reaches out to a box on the floor, withdrawing a handprint Christmas ornament from her nephew. She makes a mental note to send it to Bill. “Nah. Antarctica was enough.”

Mulder’s face darkens. “That whole thing was-”

She holds her palm up to silence him. “It’s in the past, Mulder. Glowing bugs and Mothmen and Antarctica and all of it. It’s done.”

Mulder looks dubious, but adds nothing further. He puts on a pair of Mickey Mouse ears. “A-G-E, N-T-S, C-U-L-L-Y,” he sings in a squeaky voice.

Scully wrinkles her nose. “Come here,” she says, patting the couch. Mulder picks his way through the room, sitting next to her. He lays down on his side, legs tucked up, and rests his head on her lap. His warm breath bleeds through her yoga pants.

“This jacket is comfy,” he says. “Keep it.”

Scully twines her fingers through his hair, tracing the curve of his ear, the stubble at his cheekbone. She snaps the elastic band holding the Mickey ears on.

“Ow!”

She laughs. “You baby.”

He turns to his other side so that he is facing her. He looks up, his pupils dilated in the dim light. The plastic ears are preposterous and adorable. “I didn’t think it would all be like this,” he tells her. His voice is thick.

She presses her lips together. “It’s okay.” What else can she say, really? It’s not particularly okay, but it’s bearable. Most things, she has learned, are bearable.

“Let’s take a vacation,” he says, wrapping his arms around her waist. He snuggles against the jacket.

She laughs. “You really want to go skiing.”

“Mmm, no. Not skiing. You remember when we went to Turks and Caicos after Christian’s surgery? Let’s go back.”

She remembers it well. Sapphire skies and topaz water. Mulder had pretty much vetoed her packing anything other than shorts and bikinis. She still has the silk wrap she bought there, and her mind has already conjured up remembered sunsets and dolphins and waterfall hikes.

“Mulder,” she sighs, which is hardly a protest.

“Come on, I have a birthday coming up.” He bats his lashes, which are longer than hers.

She thumbs his lips. “No you don’t.”

“I will later. Come on. My treat, huh? We’ll find a place where Daggoo can stay too. I know how you feel about kennels.” His smile is lopsided.

“Okay,” she says, as they both knew she would.

She is too warm now, Mulder radiating body heat against the puffy coat she’s swaddled in. “Sit up.” He does, removing the Mickey ears. Scully wriggles out of the jacket.

“Hoodie too,” Mulder suggests. “Don’t want you overheating.”

She considers him, his sleepy eyes and messy haystack of hair. His jeans are slouchy at his hips, navy blue t-shirt with a SEE ROCK CITY graphic on it. She takes her hoodie off, and there is nothing under it.

Mulder pats his thighs. “Turnabout is fair play,” he says.

Scully lies down with her head on the soft denim of his worn jeans. He traces infinite circles on her back with his callused fingertips. He hums tunelessly, smoothing her hair away to massage her neck with his thumbs.

She doesn’t remember falling asleep, doesn’t remember him carrying her to the back of his truck, where she wakes with her sweatshirt under her head and the ski jacket tucked around her.